


I shouldn't have eaten that for supper-

by AxZarach



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Couldthisbelove, Crack, F/M, M/M, Multi, Parody, Psychological Drama, thingsaregettingweird
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-04-19 17:54:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14242671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AxZarach/pseuds/AxZarach
Summary: What happens, when an Exorcist or Noah consumes something ill-fitting, before bedtime? Crack dreams ensue, for better or worse or both. First up: Tyki, Road and a book. Next: Tyki, Allen, and a certain exorcist clash. Now: Miranda Lotto unexpectedly encounters a certain Kamelot of foreign affairs and all kinds of sparks fly, especially when a hammer-wielding exorcist crashes the dreamscape.  Work-in-progress: Lavi and a certain Noah have a conversation, involving more than a clash of wits.





	1. Hey Mister Sandman, sing me a song

**Author's Note:**

> This collection of whimsy and effort allows me to exorcise any odd ideas or fascinating musings, thus leading to different D.Gray-man characters in various situations, while trying to stay manga-compliant and canon-compliant.
> 
> For this first chapter, Tyki Mikk and Road Camelot find themselves in one heck of a tangle… Or is it only in the imagination of one of them? Might one Noah be screwing with the mind of another Noah, or is everything an unfortunate accident? Never prod the Noah of Pleasure about exorcists he doesn’t like. On the other hand, the Noah of Dreams has a mind and moods none of her Noah family members can fathom, and each Noah is dangerous for different reasons. Brushing the border of Tyki Mikk x Road Camelot.

Ah, bliss was being in a different wing from Jasdero, Debitto and Skin. Given how these occasional family sleepovers turned out whenever those Noah clan members were involved, the unstable twins would purposely break any rules to pull a Jasdevi and rile Skin, thereby resulting in many holes and grins and chaos, as it became a game of bumpy things smashing and stabbing and firing in the night. A certain section of the Millennium Earl's Ark was perpetually in a state of reconstruction.

But not tonight. Tonight, he would relax in the security of safe indulgence, without having to do anything. Basking in a special collection of literature unknown to the world's scholars, who would be drooling like mindless hounds over some of these tomes… Not that there was anything else to do here today, dinners and discussions of dulldeebiedoo notwithstanding.

Stone walls radiated warm hues, due to a layer of damask wallpaper the shade of a ripe aubergine just plucked off the stalk. Lush cream carpeting protected bare toes from potential cold. A bedside lamp rooted into the wall arching up and over to resemble a withered rose emitted a comfortable intensity of soft yellow light. An antiquated four-poster king bed was piled high with a fat mattress and white pillows and Prussian blue blankets, soft sheets snugly tucked in, a hint of crispness from being newly purchased. Plum bled into white, sheer sheets of Japanese hand-dyed gauze hanging unfettered to caress all sides of the bed. Gold gilded accents dusted the designs of Dante's Inferno carved into black aged teakwood. Marvellous. Screaming faces frozen in eternal agony and fear added a sweet homey touch.

It was a pity the desk and rocking chair didn't share the same sentiment, standing as a naked plain pale yellow the colour of freshly bleached lemons, and equally scentless. Logs had been recently added to the fireplace, giving reddish flames a nice amber glow as they happily chomped up the wood and pulled a few comedic faces in the process. A faint shriek from somewhere distant induced a glare from the sole occupant in this room, ignoring the fiery figures dancing quietly atop little piles of ashes.

Hell, he could put up with these occasional get-togethers for the sake of Road. Yes, Road, apple of the Earl's eye. The family's eyes, to be more exact.

She behaved as if she were the youngest of them all, but she might just be the smartest. Able to get akuma to like her without trying, noticing little details while disarmingly playful, and capable of the most precise and unpredictable mood swings… It was only when she became mischievous, whereby the girl-qualities-on-display would vanish, allowing glimpses of the woman she refused to physically reveal becoming sadistically or lovingly evident. Delightfully vicious in a dignified manner, armed with cool wisdom and detached control far beyond a mere mortal's imagination, her lips were always disarmingly innocent, poised in the hint of a smile. But those predatory eyes were as impenetrable as ever, regardless of the mood. Sometimes, he felt as if he was staring into mirrors of-

'Tyki?'

His newly-acquired book was still open to the chapter index. Quickly flipping past thirty-odd pages, he did not bother to look up at the gentle rapping on his door, while flippantly responding with a tinge of exasperation. 'What do you want now, Road?'

'Can I come in?' The subject of his musing sounded amazingly polite and demure and un-Noah-like. Curiosity got the better of him, thus he agreed.

A veritable whirlwind of pointy hair and barely-restrained energy greeted him, prancing in and hopping onto the bed without saying a single word. She sat there cross-legged, eyes downcast and a pout that went nowhere, as the seconds started to tick by. Huh? Oh wait, wait for the storm to break…

 _ **'GYAAAAAH!**_ I'M BOOOOOOOOOOOORED! The Earl took Lero and the twins and Skin are tearing up the east wing and I can't participate otherwise I'll mess up this new nightgown which was a present from him and get scolded and- I'm having NO fun and you're hiding away! Entertain me!'

Her ability to vocalise run-on sentences without stopping to breathe never ceased to impress him. Not taking his eyes off the book, he casually flipped the page. Pillows might start flying at any moment, which were preferable to her candles.

'Firstly, **GYAH** is not the response of a lady and something I do not usually receive from the fairer sex. As to the second, go change into something else and then take part, without bothering me. And thirdly, learn to say "please".'

'Tyyyyyyyyyyyyyyki…'

He looked up, hearing an irritatingly familiar nasal whine in her voice, which usually did not bode well for anyone being the target of its attention. 'What?'

'Why are you being more distantly polite than usual, towards me?'

That got his attention. What was she on about? His question got him a sharp thwack across the head with her rag doll, nearly rendering him cross-eyed.

'Ehhh? Don't you know what I'm asking? Unless you're a dumbass, you're trying to pretend or you're unaware of it, you've been-' The rest of what she said was an eye-opener, almost like throwing oil onto hot coals, or shoving a gong into his ears. Him? More fake than usual? What? What had inspired this nonsense? He was not in the mood for tolerating mischief. His stare was starting to take on a more menacing quality, not that it had been kind to begin with. The swing of her arm and the doll was stopped by his hand closing over her wrist.

'No. More.' _**Or else**_ was the unspoken warning in a terse expression. He might have been unintentionally considering murder and channeling it without restraint, judging from the way dark blue eyes widened in response, a slight shiver shaking her arm and her posture starting to hunch over slightly, like a flower closing up- His hand tightened around a small wrist, making her gasp from the pressure. But her chin was resolutely jutting out, if pursed lips now set into a stubborn line were any indication to go by.

'You've always been the only one who tolerates all my moods, even though the Earl puts up with my pranks. But I don't know what's gotten into you recently, Tyki. Yet I know what I've said is true. Is it something I've done? Is that why you're s-so… so… to me?'

To see a currently not-so-confident Road Kamelot struggling to pull the balancing act of pride and pleading and bravado at the same time was as rare as an akuma farting. And he knew she cared about him as an individual, not just because they were family. Very much so, to be having this type of mood. He could not deny being pleased, with this reaffirmation. But he didn't want to think about her words either. They treaded water on the surface of his consciousness, which protected his subconscious from deeper analysis. He had never liked complexities or deep analysis. _Danger, Will Robinson, Danger_ was the clang of caution at perilous possibly unrealised truth, which could make him v- v- Gyah-

He'd been reading too many drag queen adventure novels set in the world of white water rafting and writing. Releasing her wrist, he smiled and picked up the book before spreading his arms outwards, in a sort of apologetic shrug and indication conveying everything was alright and whatever else this over-used human gesture was supposed to do in the realm of friendly appeasement. 'How about I read you a story? This omnibus makes for terrific bedtime comfort.'

To see her lighten up considerably, as if a light bulb had been switched on, as she hurled herself into his embrace with a squeal of happiness? Her joy brushed a glaze of calm over the entire setting. He wrapped his arms about her and brought the book closer to them. Sitting straighter so her hair would stop poking his nose, even as she wriggled a little to try and get comfortable, this might almost be some sort of bliss. To make Road quiet and amenable and listening like a little child sucking on candy apples was nothing short of a miracle. And selecting a tale about werewolves, he brought it to life.

His voice morphed into the coldly biting winds, relentless frost, savagery and fierce guardianship of closeness between those in the pack as they travelled across a barren landscape seeking something they could not yet define. Despair snapped at their heels, and they found no place suitable for respite. The hours rose, the storm fell, and they finally came across a cabin. There, they found an old lady abandoned with her deformed grandson, both dying of starvation. Her offer was to sing them a song, in return for a quick death. And the words spoke of life and suffering and war and hate and regret, before melting into peace and solitude and eternal glory. Of love lost, of chances squandered, of destroyed hopes, of hidden fears that healed in a song of the night. Images shaped by her song maddened the pack, for they revived a past long-forgotten. And the werewolves pounced on the humans, tearing them apart in a bloody frenzy. After eating, they howled a funeral dirge to celebrate all night long.

'l.. Knowing who they were tasted like the turn of the seasons, while delighting in the lust of the hunt, and falling in love. It was deliciously like coming home. The End. FIN.'

'…'

'That's the ending? It's crummily sappy! Are you a closet romantic? Then again, it sounds like something Allen Walker would say. Except he wouldn't use the word 'lust'. Not Allen-kun, ahahaha-' The story was sour on his tongue and his arms felt like lead, as he watched her eyes take on a lively sparkle, while giggling at her own words. And it involved what he didn't want to analyse, which was a boot to his face due to her merriment.

Allen. Goddamn (pardon his french). Walker.

Ever since facing off against the exorcist only once, she'd been mentioning him rather frequently in all things related to the Earl's plans. And worse than that, it was starting to extend to non-related things, where the family plans were concerned. Oh yes, the cheerful teenager with white hair, an excess of being cutely nauseatingly polite, and a diabolical cardsharp. Road always demanded to have first dibs with him at family meals, and that exorcist could make her blabber like a love-struck lunatic without even being present- Wait, love? More like crush. It had to be a crush at most, since it was only one short encounter. She must have messed greatly with his mind and enjoyed the results, for her to be this fascinated. After all, she was the Noah who despised humans most easily, and didn't think twice about killing them.

He wished she would shut up about this current subject.

'… are you even listening? Uh, Tyki, are you gritting your teeth, 'cos it's making your chin a bit wrinkly?'

'You brat, if you don't shut up… I will have… to… TICKLE YOU!' The bed nearly exploded in a flurry of limbs and rumpled blankets and a shower of pillows, shrieks punctuated with gasps of laughter as the smaller girl tried to scramble away from her amused companion without really trying. And the man had a hard time holding on to a wriggly bundle of impishness whose unpolished kicking tendencies tended to strike sore spots, if not careful. He paused in mid-tickle, as another observation suddenly struck him.

'Why are you wearing your white side's appearance? We're on free and easy turf. And where are your stripy socks, even though the Earl bought you a nightgown- of- ahehehe-' Said nightgown had long sleeves and was peachy, with a smattering of wispy lace at the cuffs and buttons and bottom of the short sleepwear. Above all, it was demure, dainty and dull. Not her style. Knowing Road, she wouldn't have put it on willingly. Not unless she'd done something that got on their leader's nerves. The very thought was enough to nearly make Tyki Mikk grin, so he settled for a chuckle.

'Well, I and Lero accidentally ate up his favourite jar of jam without his permission. Cloudberries. It was only a small portion, and not a lot for two people but really yummy! However, he sure threw a snit! He wouldn't help me with my homework, and he didn't approve of the sleepover this time. However, he said he'd let it go, provided I wear this thingie without socks and put on the appearance for the whole of tonight… While being a good girl. And he said he'd know if I cheated. This SUCKS!'

He tweaked her nose affectionately, even as she wrinkled it in distaste at being disciplined. Being ordered to be good was one of the worst punishments ever. That earned him a cursory glance, and a narrowing of eyes. Her features relaxed and became less petulant to reflect a runaway train of musing. 'On the other hand, I'm somewhat dressed like you tonight. Your white silk shirt and black pants- So BORING. You dress like those pathetic humans you value, even the exorcists… kinda like Allen-kun… but he's so interesting, unlike his dress sense…'

Seeing how lost in thought she was, how expressive her range of emotions became when absorbed in a scrawny human, it rankled. The drumming of blood was starting to pound in his ears. Playfulness gone and relaxing his grip on her, slowly inching back and increasing the distance between them until he was almost at the opposite end of the bed, he wasn't sure what he was feeling now. It was a murky maelstrom of emotions and thoughts that whirled and fused but never quite fit together properly. However, it finally threatened to boil over.

'Falling in love is deliciously like coming home, eh… I wonder what it's like. And if Allen-kun knows what that is…' Her words were now lighter and dreamy, her arms on either side towards opposite ends of the bed with palms up, her gaze fixed on an elaborate plaster ceiling but vision focused beyond, and her eyes… not guarded but so honestly, plainly, merely being- Speech had dried and shrivelled into a clogging crust at the back of his throat.

The drums were too loud. His chest felt heavy. To be shown a non-Noah meant something to Road was beyond description, except for the bitter tang that lingered. Was she really- truly- If only she would just stop. She was meant for far better, and not light _white_ **trash!** Speaking of stopping, he should have voiced it again because that was something she was clearly not doing tonight, and each word was a pin in a pinned cushion being anything but cushy. And with each stab, bitterness rippled and spread and ripped at something that reacted, turning into sourness and- What was this sensation?

'.. But you know? He had a good chance to win. But he didn't, with his weapon to my head and one shot to end it all. As I left them behind, I glanced back. And I saw… he… He was crying, despite his anger. And his face- As if his tears might not just have been for what I did, or that in another time and place we could have been friends, but- just maybe- he cried-'

Her voice was barely a whisper.

'For me. If only…'

A suspicious film glimmered in oceanic depths, as they stared unblinkingly upwards.

And in this moment, seeing the 9th Apostle so vulnerable she might as well be naked, Tyki would have marvelled, but the only word he could think of was 'damp'. To know that no one had ever been able to reduce her to this, in this teardrop of time, making her remember she was not only a Noah… Not a super-human enemy to the exorcists. Not a destroyer of this world. Not a million other things which could be heaped upon her head and she didn't care.

Road Kamelot was a human girl with dreams and not afraid to love.

Even if she might not be aware of it yet- The sheer beauty and potential of what had been revealed to him, courtesy of an enemy he barely knew and now absolutely loathed, was too much. A message he had taken for granted in bits and pieces all along did a boomerang back into his awareness. Only this time, immense simplicity was a giant fan of light that batted hard and _goddamn_ didthegoodhurt- The weight in his chest pulsed like molten lava, burning as if he had been pierced by one of his own Teases and was being eaten alive from the inside out. Hand pressed tightly to the centre where it stung, the lone witness to her rambling slowly keeled over. Only one hand digging into the bedsheets kept his face from kissing the mattress.

'T-Tyki? What's wrong? Why are you- Is it your chest? I'll get the Earl-'

Swallowing hard, taking a deep breath and trying to speak without giving away any of what he was going through, he shook his head and kept his gaze averted. 'Just sing. Something. Anything.'

'What?' Worry and what-the-fuck was written all over her face.

Not that he could tell, since he wasn't looking. No, Tyki Mikk had more important things to worry about, such as not revealing a suddenly-realised Achilles heel which had so nicely slapped him in the face with all the sweetness of a ninja ambush. Then again, he couldn't remember whether Road had much singing capability when it came to improvisation (so it might not have been the best of distractions) but his reeling mind was grasping at straws. His worlds of light and dark were threatening to lose balance and implode into each other with all the grace of enraged killer whales, thereby sinking his entire ship of sanity.

'eitherdoitorjust- Get. Out.'

Perhaps she was unsure of what was happening, seeing how white the knuckles of his hand blanched while fingertips were obscured by the bedsheets, and since Tyki was in a weirdly scary mood that might result in hurting himself… She chose not to leave him alone. Not yet. He refused to look at her face.

'Hey Mister Sandman, sing me a song'

Her childish voice was not having any calming effect on his current inner tantrum. Allen Walker. His entire being seethed, remembering that annoying lad. Just as she was singing to Tyki now, he would sing to that damned exorcist. Sing a song of ruin and torment and delicious agony culminating in death from his Teases. Revenge for the excruciatingly bothersome pins he was enduring now, disgust and resentment and other untold-as-yet emotions stewing and bubbling up from whichever asshole had first birthed them at the dawn of time. It would be wonderful when the cause of his current state perished, the Innocence destroyed. Ripping out that heart would be **delicious**. What was so special about that runt?!

He would rather be damned than let an exorcist obtain their family treasure. One could finally thank the Millennium Earl for giving him the card with that sickening name. If the Black Order thought their general Yeegar had been given a terrible turn of fate, they ain't seen nothin' yet. Oh. Yesssssssss. The urge to ravage, even the watered-down pleasure from the prospect of doing so, was an incredible turn-on.

'If you're gonna play with me all night long…'

Road always sang with a high-pitched singsong clarity as clean as the drop of a coin, although a nervous undercurrent shimmered beneath each drawn-out intonation this time, giving the off-key ballad a pleasant charm of its own. Chanting the two lines repeatedly might have been her way of trying to calm more than just him. And it helped to provide and re-establish some stability to whatever had been about to hijack his peaceful existence. The magnitude of his reaction was rather surprising.

Gently easing his grip on the bedclothes, he allowed himself to collapse on the mattress and roll over, hand no longer pushing into his flesh, merely resting. And he found himself surprised, as she lifted and moved his hand aside in hers, bending over to place one ear to his chest to obviously check his heartbeat. Such contact startled him, and he didn't quite understand why. Where he would have previously ruffled her hair and laughingly told her not to worry, why was he finding it difficult to move… and was it getting a tad too warm? He needed to organise himself, regain time to think properly. He was still in a precarious state. Right and wrong were tenuous and if he of all the Noah clan members didn't have some sort of adherence to stability, who would?

'W-Where'd you get the song from?'

'Huh? Well, the words were on the back of your book and the only thing I could skim without squinting lots, so I improvised. Fast. Not too bad, eh?' She beamed at him.

He would have said something, except for being somewhat distracted by her head on his chest, with one hand on his stomach. One of her legs rested on his inner thigh, the other knee carelessly between his outstretched legs. 'Oh.'

'Is that all you have to say, not that I'm even sure how I sound?! Anyway, are you better? What's the matter?'

Dark blue met gold, and the gaze of neither side flinched at how neither one was sure as to what was going on. Or to be less diplomatic, each of them were obviously preoccupied with different issues. Road was probably trying to figure out why her handsome but almost impossible-to-decipher bedtime nanny and uncle had given her a major fright related to potential heart problems, and possibly some white hairs. Tyki was trying to figure out how to gracefully eject her from the room within the next ten seconds or at the very least, off him ASAP or he was going to be very embarrassed.

Swallowing hard and clearing his throat, he inhaled and opened his mouth to speak. And forgot to exhale as slim fingers brushed his cheek, gentle touch short-circuiting any coherent thoughts he had previously been regaining. This was not funny. She was now sitting up and looking at him with the sombreness of an adult. 'Are you ok?'

'Yes, sort of.' Unspoken was his desire of _Let me get away from you and I'll be just fine._

Eyebrows scrunched towards each other and nose crinkled in disbelief, she leaned closer, peering at his face in fierce scrutiny. And the girl was back, thankfully displacing the woman. 'You are a bit pale, but your cheeks are starting to look flushed. It might be a fever. Or stress. But as long as-'

'Really? I'm fine.' Unspoken was his gritted inner exclamation of _And I'll be even better, if you'd shut up in the process. Especially about Allen Walker._

As two paths of thought fought for dominance, his traitorous mind chose the third path. Irrelevance. And somehow became relevant again. Namely: _Oh, fuck. I can't be doing this. She's so…_

And then Road Camelot drew back slightly and smiled, displaying a serene maturity that radiated gentle care and sweet obliviousness. By now, someone with more worldly awareness would be backing away or at the very least, become wary because of the signs Tyki Mikk was demonstrating. Not Road. Not when her family had done too darn good a job at ensuring her safety and hence ignorance in such matters. She would not suspect her own family, where this was concerned. She remained where she was, fingers on his cheek, and expressed what could possibly be the corniest line suitable.

'As long as you're ok, I'm happy.'

And got to him. His emotional response was equally corny and clichéd. _She's so beautiful._

It was as if the age-old discord between his two sides fit perfectly with that thought. And he couldn't tear away his gaze, couldn't run, couldn't resist the treachery his protective and honourable intentions failed to keep at bay. Now incredibly aware of slender curves and alluring lines temptingly emphasised but not concealed in a short nightgown, the expense of exposed leg and how trustingly innocent she was, the Noah of Pleasure couldn't be more blessed and cursed at this instance. The threshold between adolescent and woman. Hm. Mm.

Pulling himself up into a more dignified position, he closed his eyes. One hand closed over hers, removing her touch from his cheek and intertwining their fingers, brought their connection to rest on the bed. A tic had appeared above the left eyebrow, lips straightened into a grim line, and his features were oddly contorted, as if poised with indecision of what expression to make.

_Our Millennium Earl might kill me._

Might. Not Will. Oh dear. That settled it. Dark lashes lifted to reveal a shade of amber that was frighteningly compelling. All superficial charm and politeness had been discarded. What was left was raw, dangerous and undeniable. Ignoring the look of ?, his gaze remained on her chin, the other hand drifting up to touch it. Index finger resting beneath the tip, thumb slowly running along the tender pink of her lower lip, the sudden shift in his demeanour was somewhat unnerving. He seemed almost… hungry?

'Road, remember how you had a certain question for me…' His voice was hoarse and almost raspy, slow and drawn-out, as if opening an iron gate thickly coated with rust.

'…and then you were concerned over what's been happening here?' That strange edge flaked away with each second to become slower, softer, darker, silkier and sharper.

'You see, I've been in pain…' His gaze captured her wide-eyed confusion, his body language belying a surety without refusal or regret for what was to happen next. The power of his focus was instinct, and instinct had been sorely tested this night.

'So much pain...' There was a pause to take a deep breath, stiff shoulders relaxing.

'And you can help me ease it… only if... like…' While saying it, he pulled her hand above and past his head, in a movement somewhat reminiscent of a pas de deux just before grasping, supporting and dipping the partner.

'Coming home.'

And before she could draw breath to ask or answer as she fell towards him, his lips and warmth stopped it all. In one smooth motion, he had rolled her over onto her back, his other hand on her waist, one leg between hers, and their entwined fingers landed on a pillow. And it was almost scary. Sublime. Shattering. Sticky. Soul-shaking. Sweet. Fiery figures were ignored by the ever-changing shadows cast against the walls, an untended fire eventually dying down.

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

He shot up, a cold sweat not helping the fact that it was too hot. What the heck was that?! The book was open to chapter eighteen, on page six. The bed was still impeccable. A few crumbs from the lingonberry-broccoli-black-pepper with maple-syrup-glazed cupcake dotted the plate lying next to the bedside lamp. He was still thankfully sane, even if his clothes were damp from reacting to th- This was the last time he was trying anything Road and Lero baked for supper, after being painstakingly begged by them to try a little. At least he didn't have a stomach ache. Shaking his head while suppressing a shudder, it was exhausting to realise how affected he had been, experiencing the vortex of mental and emotional tension created by this ridiculous nightmare.  
  
As if Road would behave like an innocent, jabbering child! As if reality, much less Road, oldest and most calculating of all the Noah family members (if one discounted the Millennium Earl and The Fourteenth), would conform to what his imagination had created. As if he would be attracted, compelled to touch a mere slip of a girl or do more than that. He was no paedophile or hebephile. And he was completely against incest. Where was mouthwash and brain bleach, when needed?  
  
For now, sleep. And tomorrow, he would leave the Ark, returning to the mines and a day of simplicity.

Undressing and about to turn in, light footfalls followed what sounded like snatches of verbal conversation outside his room. As they neared his door, the Noah of Pleasure recognised the steady rhythm and clatter of shoes as Road's footsteps. The Noah of Dreams didn't stop at his room but continued without faltering, walking past. What she'd been merrily half-singing gave him a chill and uneasy heat to accompany him through the rest of the night.

_'Hey Mister Sandman, sing me a song_

_If you're gonna play with me all night long_

_And when you see a cuckoo bird, let 'im know…'_


	2. B & B Vs S & M owsies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyki, Allen and a certain exorcist clash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the fourth wall happens muchly in this chapter, for consistency and flow and crack and possible parodying of many things.

**B & B Vs S & M owsies**

Taking a deep drag on his cigarette, the lone figure in this room exhaled. Perhaps he was getting philosophical in his old(er) age, and the walls currently reflected his mindset. A messy mish-mash of black and red layered on white with no sense of artistic flair or consideration, hearts and spades and clubs and stars and diamonds were thrown together with all the chaos of a jumble sale gone wrong. The décor reminded him of Monet's work, tolerable and possibly interesting from a distance, but a mess up close. And maybe it fitted him just fine right now, his dark and light sides consistently incompatible with each other.

Sounds from outside jarred sentimental philosophical nonsense and as any normal person would do in this situation, he looked to where a door handle might be, to see if a visitor would drop in. A tingle ran up his spine, almost as if one of his Teases had gone ice-skating over his back. There was a bumpy-clanky-clong, the sound resembling someone fumbling with a handle. And where there was previously thought to be no door, a squarish outline now swung open, to capture a slight figure framed in the opening and stepping through.

Half-lidded eyes widened at the intruder, a sudden gleam being almost omi- er, enthusiastic.

'Um, excuse me, I'm not too good at abrupt and unexpected scenarios, so if you could tell me where- uh, oh-'

If this Noah was the closure of things, Allen Walker had just opened a can of worms by showing up in the wrong space. An unexpected door swung shut behind him and like any good B-grade movie or crackfic drafted by a sadistic author, the exit knob vanished with a wink. Backing up against the wall and frantically groping behind him, he was only too aware of how his life sporadically resembled an epic fantastical soap opera. The gatekeeper of the Black Order going bananas on him. Kanda passionately wanting to know him inside-out at swordpoint. Komui repairing his arm using an unforgettably traumatising process. Lavi keeping him at garlic-length, after Krory had bitten him- But never at this instance could it be more wrong.

At times, God's sense of humour was too much like Cross Marian's presence in his life. Did God exist? Did any god exist? Was it more than one? How many gods and religions had come and gone and died, throughout human history?

'You're really not dead, to be invading my space like this. So much for completing a job in China. Or are you a figment of my imagination, boy?'

Stubbing out the cigarette and getting up from the majestic high-backed chair of solid oak varnished to a beauteous black, Sir Tyki Mikk casually plucked a volume from the pile in the center of the table, then rounded said table towards one panicking exorcist. Stopping against the table and flipping the book open, he read the contents out loud in a seriously earnest tone.

'In a series with some sort of following, fandom has a talent for rushing to expunge sex on the brain involving fictional characters, regardless of age. Possibilities are endless, especially where attractive male and female characters are concerned… So, if the conflict between Noahs and Exorcists were a series, does that mean I'd be doing very naughty things with every notable male? Such as with your eye-patch-friend… or to you, Allen- _chan_?'

With that last emphasis on the final word, the reader burst out guffawing at the bug-eyed conflicting expressions altering his prey's face every five seconds or so.

If Allen Walker had looked as if he had been about to lose his marbles, perhaps his mind was now on the brink of spontaneous combustion to escape in a cloud of smoke. Tyki Mikk would not know that at this moment, what he had read aloud had slammed one exorcist's innocent imagination into a blank wall of ignorance as self-defence to keep him safe, leaving him verbally spluttering like a goldfish. If Tyki Mikk could read minds, he would have known this exorcist was also positively certain the Noah had snapped, because this level of dementia in his enemy had never been seen before _and where_ _was the man's mind going?!_ _Door, where the heck are you?! Open sesame! Open jamboree! Openopenopendamnit-_

'Oh god, Road's essays are hilarious when she takes a silly topic seriously, in the name of fun- And what are you looking at me like that for? Don't worry. I have no interest in a pale, scrawny beansprout.'

_Except in screwing you mentally, that is. Oh, Allen Walker, you could amuse me all day._

Allen Walker was such an entertaining boy, and the thought of killing him almost seemed to be a sad loss. That boy's change in body language was a praiseworthy Jekyll and Hyde, going from shaky knees to shaking shoulders, as dark flames erupted around the subject of his mockery. With the ferocity of a shark and a menacing scowl, newly-activated Innocence raised threateningly, his prey was now all about serious business. Further verbal prodding was not helping, because Tyki could not resist such deliciously naïve temptation.

'Hey, isn't that the Innocence I destroyed? But I wouldn't imagine it back. Ah, of course, this isn't real, so you can imagine your desire into working here. And who knows, maybe you're trying to recover it while I go about family business. **Not that it'll help you a single bit when you awaken, boy** **.** '

'Don't. Call. Me. Beansprout. Perverted FLATASS!'

Ooh. Stalemate. Gritted teeth. Limit break on verge of release, to surpass temper thresholds.

This was starting to look like one of those icky showdowns whereby everybody would lose. The two would clash, cue lots of disfigurements, one might perish magnificently because that is the beauty of noble hardheads, and lots of fans would wail at the tragedy of no more hot smex. Unless they somehow fell in love during the three seconds it takes to glare each other into volcanic ulcers, or perhaps break into a romantic waltz halfway and spoil the excitement in beating the shit out of each other. Or-

'How do you beat the shit out of someone, anyway? There's normally blood, teeth, guts, but-'

'What do you take Tyki Mikk for, boy? A studious mugger on the docks at night? Oh wait, don't answer, since you rarely exhibit intelligence for comebacks.'

Glaring at each other was never as tired as saving the world or a species, but it would be interesting to do something different for a change, other than maintaining easily-misunderstood tension, as interpreted by a diverse readership. The feeling was mutual, but unvoiced as usual. Heaven forbid that they agree too obviously on something fundamental, because it would be a huge irreversible proposal towards peace, and then there'd be no more reason to fight. And then the story would go bye-bye, because writing about raising cows and pigs and hens and a sweet little cabbage patch on a farm of lovejoy for two, when not building a cute white fence with rose bushes, would do serious damage to dramatic angst.

Sounds like the success story for a joke known as the United Nations but has never come to pass, like ducks farting underwater.

Anyway, the Noah of Pleasure was bored. And here was a golden opportunity for entertainment. Who knew if he'd get another chance like this, to torment this lad, so with a snap of fingers…

'Cards! Remove the coat, roll up the sleeves to the elbows, and let's have a bet!'

Huh? The cardsharp whose code name was Destroyer of Time was having trouble catching up. Maybe it was because his opponent was setting the pace and throwing too many verbal curveballs with no explanation of his mental processes. A bet?

Producing a deck of cards from a pocket and placing it on the table, Tyki Mikk shrugged off the black coat, undid the first three buttons on his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.

'Um, wasn't the table long and rectangular and messy before? But now it's fl-er, small and circular. And besides, who says I'm agreeing? I'm leaving!' exclaimed a certain exorcist, still wondering where the doorknob had gone and how it could vanish.

'Then why are you still standing there and talking? Imagination, boy. You'd have a hard time figuring out how to leave if we're fighting each other. Let's put it this way: Play a game of cards. If you win, I'll let you go without interfering. If you lose… You have to promise to stand still against the wall for five minutes with your hands up.'

If Allen Walker hadn't been an exorcist, journalism might have been an occupation to naturally excel in. Capable of asking the right questions at the wrong time, able to go off on a thought tangent while listening to another person, and a talent for picking things up fast... Tyki Mikk did not have to be a mind-reader to see how the lad reluctantly followed suit, but mind-reading would have allowed him to enjoy realising what Allen Walker was also feeling: Scalp now all prickly, skin suddenly feeling three sizes too small, and a successfully-repressed mental shudder at the sight of the beatific smile displayed by one Noah while thinking _Hands up? For five minutes? What did the Noah want five minutes for, anyway?_

'Ok. But gloves off too. And what do you need five minutes for?' was the question which could not be suppressed.

Momentarily putting the cards aside to remove his gloves and hurl them almost disdainfully at the chair opposite, Tyki Mikk leant forward.

'I've picked Road's favourite card game known as "Speed". We each get half a deck, and it's similar to playing a piano up and down the scales. The scales are in the center. We each have four slots on our side laid down from our primary deck, and they are replaceable when we empty them. Otherwise, you have to wait until you see an opportunity for doing so. The game starts the moment we flip over a card, one from each side for each scale. If both scales happen to possess the same figures and if you're quick enough, snap all and both piles of cards will go to your opponent. We then reshuffle the cards and restart again. The winner loses all his cards first or has the lesser number of cards, after three rounds. Got it?'

If Tyki Mikk was the author of this piece of fanfiction and wanting to break the fourth wall while confusing readers between switching points-of-view too easily and without sufficient clarity, this is what he might have written after the previous paragraph, in one paragraph below:

[ Seriously? No way! As if! This was child's play! Allen Walker hadn't touched it in years and now he had to, in the unlikeliest circumstances? It was ludicrously simple. After resisting the urge to laugh at the other, he could see that the challenge might have a huge catch. Unexplained stakes, a rival whose speed and cunning was not to be lightly taken, and a setting that had him off-balance in many ways needed- He needed a bit more advantage.]

But since no Noah or exorcist could be responsible for penning this piece of fanfiction because they were only manga characters prone to being badly-mangled, over-simplified, decently described, or wonderfully-fleshed out by fanfiction writers, when the mangaka was not charting a never-ending snail-crawling pace of a series where every fan wanted more pages available in Shueisha's JUMP magazine every three months, what transpired was a somewhat-boring reply, to move the current storyline forward.

'Alright. But before I play, explain why you insist on five minutes and my hands up.'

A beatific smile on Tyki Mikk's face took on an even more sinister slant, as cards were being shuffled.

'Ten minutes might be too extortionist. We are obviously not in reality, and probably asleep. There is no conscious moment whereby I could meet you in such a setting, because this place does not exist in our world. It's clear that whose dream or whose nightmare hasn't been established, which is why this scenario is not going completely by yours or my wishes. So… Let us find out, since we've met. Besides, I want to see how much and what type of damage I can inflict with my Teases, and whether you can recover from it. After all, there's a possibility that whatever you suffer here follows you into the waking world in some form. And five minutes… I can think of plenty of methods to try. On your honour, I'm sure you'll do your best not to scream. By the way, how's the heart?'

If Allen Walker could have wrested the pen from this fanfic writer at this moment, he would have scrawled: The reality slap from that last sentence uttered by the Noah was a sharply blunt sting. How could he have forgotten he was dealing with a sadist? Despite the easy camaraderie, underneath it all, they both had jobs to do. Opposite sides to bat for. Damnit. Why? Why did it always come down to this? Why couldn't there be world peace? Resisting the urge to clench his fists, Allen seated himself at the table.

But as it was, the game was on. The gloves were off. And hopefully by the end, both could walk away peacefully.

Competition in sheer instinct was a delight. Both discovered how swift and sure the opponent was, due to the "snap all" rule. The first time, right hands landed on both piles. It must be a fluke, and the results were inconclusive. So the cards were reshuffled, and dealt again. The second time it happened, uncertainty crept in. This was starting to feel like a private joke by someone other than them. If strings were being pulled, they were marionettes mirroring each other too uncannily.

'Ow! Did you have to smack so hard? Jerk.'

'I might say the same of you, boy. Your hand's practically squashing mine,' snapped Tyki Mikk, making a mental note that Allen Walker could sound as immature and petulant as Road, under the right circumstances.

'My hands are smaller than yours! And besides, let go! What are you holding my hand for, pervert?' exclaimed Allen, resisting the urge to punch his opponent in the face with Innocence.

The question involving a possible-pervert only resulted in the Noah sounding too smugly superior, while raising an elegant eyebrow at the younger man. 'That freakish limb? Sure, but shouldn't you be doing so, without me having to throw your words back at you?'

Contact was broken with a grievous air, and dagger-like glares exchanged.

The cards were reshuffled, and the game continued. And on the third occasion-

'What's with that reaction, boy?'

'I could ask you the same thing!'

Both were clutching their right hand protectively in the left. It was as if the slightest touch now scalded and left some wound, which needed soothing. Whatever it was, it was just too weird. One might detect a slight sense of jitters. If a microscope was now taken to the mental processes of these two, it might look something like this:

_You're a worthy foe, boy. A smile and an unflinching gaze, even when you are going to die. It's a pity, when you're such an interesting human. I can see why Road is so enraptured by you, when your masks are as strong as mine. Always warm, like your fingers which are too slippery and I would like to stop, by-_

_He's being a real pain about this. But it's nice though, to be enemies but not fighting for blood. If he ever polishes his card skills, I'd have to watch out. And he should, with such long and nimble fingers. I wonder if he's good at the piano. And they are amazingly warm, even though his politeness is cold and-_

_**EHHHH?!** _

What the heck was that? The last was combined knee-jerk alarm of each party at their own meandering thoughts. Totally unexpected! Too quick! Too shallow! Too deep! Too irrelevant! Too crazy! Swim back to the now of gaining victory! In fact, it doubled the desire to get this over with.

The snap-all rule was discarded. It was going to be gritty and gruesome. Especially when Lady Luck decided to join hands with God's sense of humour (if any of them existed), and award victory to-

Allen Walker stared at the two piles, his last card in his hands. It was removed from his grasp ever-so-gently by a triumphant Noah, who proceeded to toss it aside. Ace of spades.

'Time to fulfill your part of the bet, boy.'

Putting both hands on the loser's shoulders, the victor gently steered his prey over to the wall, then stepped back to evaluate him. Hm, he might just be spacing out from shock, and the realisation of what the result meant. Heh. His Teases would have a hearty meal soon enough. With a snap and haughty flourish, a cloud of them poured out of his hands and hovered about his shoulders and arms, a living unfurled cloak teeming with hungry organisms. And he waited for the exorcist to get ready, before he would proceed to create a splendid wreck. Anticipation was delicious.

Now, where to start…

* * *

Five. Minutes. Breathe. Closing his eyes for a second to gain courage, he leant against the wall and raised his hands above his head. No sooner did he note the slight flexing in the wall, then there was the lightest brush of- Allen opened his eyes and gaze following the sensation, blinked at the sight of numerous Teases sitting on his arms and legs. Wings barely fluttering, they didn't do anything more than use him as a perch. Their master however, was an entirely different matter.

He was using a red marker pen to draw noughts and crosses all over Allen's white shirt and grey overcoat in a seemingly random fashion. One eyebrow furrowed in concentration, a few more strokes had the various points connected in some odd reasoning apparent only to the artist. Looking up to intercept a look of puzzlement, the Noah smiled a smile of such pleasure and glee, unabashed sentiments sending shivers down the recipient's spine. And with one swipe light as a feather, had slit cloth in two with a nail. Allen Walker's skin did not escape unmarked, and a thin line of red appeared on pale flesh. With another wave of his hand, two tiny Teases landed on grey knuckles.

Allen Walker did not consider himself fortunate to be given a prolonged second experience with the pets a certain Noah harboured within his palms.

* * *

 

The boy's face was devoid of colour, almost ashen grey. That face was also expressionless, lips set in a grimly determined line. Moving closer, the Noah of Pleasure looked down and grinned almost kindly. Bending lower, he whispered in the other's ear. 'Don't worry. While you still have energy to scream, I won't let you die. Then you can go. Any last wishes or regrets?'

For a moment, his prey seemed to tremble. And then shoulders straightening, eyes as clear as a lake in spring stared into lazy sunlight.

'Don't put on a poker face, boy. Just tell me.'

Allen's next words made even the Teases pause. 'It's sad.'

Why?

'When I met you, we were carefree strangers in this world, who formed a connection. You were as human as me. If dreams could come true, all I'd want is the choice of people playing cards, so no one would have to die.'

Man stared at boy. These were words to remember and do more than that, in terms of coming back to haunt them both.

So tragic, so solemn, so revolting... Tyki Mikk lit another cigarette, letting it hang loosely from his fingers as he tilted his head to one side, as if contemplating the sentiment, before dismissing by savagely stubbing it out on the skin covering Allen's heart. Then he lit another and did the same thing another four times, as if wanting to punch through that chest. Dots for a cross, for X marks the spot. Listening to sharp exhalations and ragged breathing of his human punching bag made those words more bearable, because he could not erase them from his conscience. This boy was so full of love for humanity, it... made... no... fucking... sense. And to recognise some little inner portion strongly agreeing with this runt was appallingly queasy. Now he wanted to snap Allen Walker's head off his spine.

But first, this Noah would extract as much pain as he could get.

On Allen Walker's part, sudden continuous ebb and flare of heat and pain made him wince, as he did his best not to make any noise at what Tyki Mikk was doing to him. This was not assuring at all. Trying not to let terror get the better of him, his mind tried to calm his spirit. It's only five minutes. Think of the time Komui fixed the arm. At worst, it's the multiple of a razor-sharp pain that reminds one of a blade-

Breathe. Be patient. Be cool. Don't channel hot-headed Kanda- Irritation and annoyance with the forces which had created this scenario and outcome was finally unleashed.

'Will you just hurry up and get this over with?!'

Clonk.

'Beansprout?'

A familiar voice was faint, coming from somewhere outside the room. Both boy and man had stiffened, gazes darting in the direction of where the source might be. Nervous hope suffused one face, and curiosity in another. Then there was silence. False alarm? Maybe. The Noah was all set to start enjoying himself-

ShickShickShick.

As a sliced-and-diced opening folded into the room, wall keeling over as quickly as a floppy paper cut-out, Tyki Mikk took a quick glance at his boardgame, took a quick glance towards the impending intrusion, and… did the only thing that made sense.

The Noah hugged the exorcist before him, who had just opened his mouth.

For his part, Allen Walker was very confused. Any confusion was interrupted by a mouthful of shirt, a blinding sea of white, and sudden surge in temperature. Breathing was suddenly much more difficult. Not to mention he thought he had heard- So naturally, he turned his head towards an airier opening…

And met the intense focus of night-black eyes. One elegantly disdainful eyebrow was twitching, almost like a fidgety puppy. That look was coupled with lips pressed so tightly together, they didn't seem to know which way to go. Mugen however, was obviously all ready for action. Action would be interesting, once its owner figured out what to do next. Mental traffic lights were spluttering an indecisive orange. A smiling enemy. A non-resistant colleague. Two pairs of saucer-shaped, blinking eyes.

'What the hell do you think you're doing with a Noah, beansprout?!'

'T-that is- DON'T CALL ME BEANSPROUT, BAKANDA! I HAVE A-'

'Allen-chan agreed to have some S & M fun with me. And you're _interrupting_.'

Tyki Mikk had always been a rather honest boy, and the habit carried over into adulthood. The only problem was his inclination for paraphrasing and leaving out too many details, because he liked summarising and didn't like explaining much, unless it was someone he felt enough kinship with. Besides, how was he going to do the whole slash-and-massacre-into-a-beautifully-bloody-mess affair, when there were capably nosy parkers barging in on his game? Well, one may not count as a massacre, but it's the sentiment that matters.

The samurai exorcist Allen Walker addressed as BAKANDA obviously had a different interpretation. A tiny piece of flesh above his eyebrow appeared to have advanced from a tic into a spasm, and both eyes had narrowed into tiny slits. If one stared closely enough, fingers clenched tightly around a hilt might just be trembling slightly. At this point, Kanda really needed to be allowed to express his thoughts, but it would interrupt the flow of the story. How about keeping his mental train short and expressive, before going to Allen Walker's thoughts, such as… He'd thought the tacky setting belonged to the enemy, but now he wasn't so sure. How could Allen Walker be so traitorous? _.._ _ **DAMN…**_

For his part, a white-haired chap was nonplussed at how passive everything had suddenly become. The atmosphere reminded him of dark forests and haunted castles at sunset, when the birds stopped singing and people became too chipper to hide incredible uneasiness gushing over them like a geyser. Shared silence was a gramophone that had ground to a halt. Or perhaps, he needed glasses. What he was greeted with was-

'Howdareyoudoweirdcosythingswiththeenemy STUPID BEANSPROUT!'

Huh?

Tyki Mikk could barely hide a malicious grin, as a fuming whirlwind of blue-black and silver lunged towards them, while he had one arm wrapped about the shorter boy's waist, his larger right hand clasping the boy's left wrist. Alas, misunderstanding was evident. Hm, the possibilities might be fun. Whispering very quickly and softly into his prey's ear, it was time to see where this unexpected twist went.

'Stick to our agreement, or my Tease will eat into your brain from your ear before your Innocence can activate. Do you like vegetables?'

As a reminder, something light brushed Allen's other earlobe almost teasingly. And away they went, in a swirl of rotating merry-go-round viewpoints being described below.

Activating Mugen before he vaulted over the table, Kanda had to change the trajectory of his swing rather abruptly, as he was immediately presented with Allen's back. Allen, for his part, was starting to get the jitters from the wind of this B & B business. He and Kanda were never meant to be, especially when it involved his back and Kanda's blade. Glancing up, it wasn't hard to read amusement spelled out across his tormentor's face. However, Allen didn't have a talent or prompter for always deciphering expressions and besides, what was the other exorcist blabbering about?

Twirling his dance partner around and pulling that one flush against his body, back to front, Tyki slid to his right and winked at an uptight Japanese samurai, who had just retreated backward a few wary steps to create some space and reassess possible future attacks. Road had always teasingly insisted that since he looked like a high-born lord, he should at least possess some of the skills to go with the appearance. Dancing however, was something he'd felt was a useless skill and besides, all one really needed was manners and poise. However, it might just serve a purpose here and even with unskilled deadweight in his arms, didn't quite hamper his speed. Until he got bored, of course. He spun Allen Walker to face him, an almost-tender smile playing about his lips.

'Hey, boy, you're not as heavy as I expected. Eat more.'

Since exorcists were somewhat sparse in number at this point of time, Kanda didn't have any intention of lessening the odds or ability to function, especially as Komui would be really depressed if it happened to any more exorcists. He didn't know how he'd gotten here, he wasn't sure how to get out completely, but he was certain it could all be solved once he'd saved a dumbass beansprout from a deadly foe and exited the room. Or not. The beansprout's passive compliance and lack of answers was infuriating. Had the beansprout gone insane? Was the beansprout fond of that smarmy weasel? And what was with the butterflies, another crazy fetish? Wait, what the hell did he have to save this beansprout for?

Seeing the possessive circle of arm around a lean waist, a thin pale hand clasped in a darker one, and how snugly the shorter boy's head fit just under the other man's chin, metaphorical visions of a hand to a glove almost resembling a shy cross-dressing maiden and twisted knight- The inclination not to use Mugen to separate Allen Walker's arms and head from Allen Walker's body was starting to switch poles.

In the meanwhile, impervious to Kanda's observations and thoughts because he believed the Noah had just insulted him while unable to use ESP or fanfic authors connecting mental devices of what-a-coincidence, two hot spots of red had appeared on Allen Walker's cheeks, glowing like hot coins. How dare this nut get personal? He might eat enough for a mini-army, but he did at least 200 vertical push-ups singlehandedly every morning, and-

'Oi, move away from the beansprout instead of continuing such indecency!'

'Bakanda, is it? You are rudely interrupting our _pleasure_.'

And an epiphany sank in, like a dumbbell crashing on Allen's toes and through the hardly-described floor of this room. Kanda must have misunderstood whatever this sadist had been referring to earlier, and the misleading idea was being perpetuated for sick kicks. This had to be corrected at once!

'Kanda, Tyki's joking! He's-'

'Allen-chaaaan, you're hurting me. But you've finally said my name!'

'How far- How can you be so intimate with **that?**! UNFORGIVEABLEDAMNBEANSPROUT!'

Dashing forward, a vicious diagonal swipe from lower left to upper right might have taken the Noah's head off, except he ducked below the stroke by bending over. That meant dipping his toy backwards, their faces within nosing distance and _this was so much fun_! He wanted to guffaw long and loud. If possible, this brat had gone even redder, because his forehead matched his cheeks. It was hilarious to watch large eyes bulge outwards, eyelashes quiver slightly, skinny frame stiffening, mouth open but wordlessly paralysed by the outrageously messy situation… How adorable. At this moment, Allen Walker almost looked like a girl. If he had been female, Tyki might have considered kissing him. For the hilarity, of course. And then rip off his lips.

As it was, an upward glance revealed the Japanese exorcist might be getting even madder. Oh? Hm. Damn, the second intruder was fast enough to remove some hairs off his head. Before that one could bring the blade directly downwards, he quickly leapt sideways and hauling himself upright, swung Allen between them as a shield for stability. Moving further to the right, he whizzed his clueless pardner along and around the table.

Wait, why not?

One hand slid down and got a good grip.

'Allen-chan, or should I say _beansprout_ …'

If it wasn't for agonising fear he remembered, ever since having a Tease eat through his heart… Allen might have grudgingly admitted the cruel pervert holding him had consummate grace and an ability to preserve them in one piece. However, it was because said pervert had put them in this situation, which was why gratitude or appreciation was far from the mind. The Noah was too close for comfort, expressions too alive for liking, and the room was too bloody hot. Not to mention getting nauseously dizzy, and how bad-tempered Kanda could be so unfair- It was as if anything just made the hole deeper! Then what the heck could be said?

A certain exorcist looked like an icy harbinger of hell quickly closing the distance between them, magnificently poised to bring down judgment with his katana. It was quite a contrast to being towed around like a rag doll by the Noah, while rubbing disturbingly and unintentionally against the taller man. Hard to avoid the firm press and flex of lean muscles tensing whenever that enemy moved so effortlessly, smelling almost intriguingly of mango soap and ash- OH CHRIST WHERE WAS THIS GOING?!

'BAKANDA! TYKI MIKK! YOU TWO, QUIT TWISTING WHAT I SA-' An enraged shout was stopped in a most effective way.

Shoulders sagged. Eyes widened. A jaw dropped.

Too bad Allen wasn't as fortunate. He only managed one out of the three, along with a squeak. Notmoving. Lips. Warm. Salt. Soft. Guy. Hard. Guy. Gentle. What. The. Tongue. _Tongue?!_

It was only a playful flick, but it was as effective as pesticide. Or in this case, the crack factor had soared by too many levels. Immediate mental shutdown occurred. Or in Kanda's case, it went into overdrive. Sticking a thermometer into that one's mouth would have revealed a temperature of -123 and 321 degrees Celsius** simultaneously. Too many emotions sent him over the limit, including disgust. Then again, he wouldn't have acknowledged having emotions other than irritation, anger and fury, much less analysing the cause. Seeing Allen Walker in the enemy's grip, grey eyes staring up into golden eyes, while an infuriatingly smug and satisfied smile lingered on- HOW DARE THE NOAH TAKE BEANSPROUT AS HIS OWN!

The table was sent flying, both halves smashing into walls that bulged and sagged.

Seeing a murderous aura almost explode as his attacker lunged towards them, Tyki decided he needed to be able to manoeuvre better and switching his hold, flipped and carried his burden bridal-style. Too bad exorcists didn't seem to have a sense of humour. And remembering the response which was mostly non-reactive except for a slight softening before everything froze, he couldn't resist the urge to tease while slinging his burden over one shoulder, also allowing Allen Walker's POV to take over in the next paragraph.

Black was the day. Nigh was the end. There was no justice. The world was cruel. God was evil. How could he not protect one of his chosen, and let another guy take his first kiss?! Instead of Lenalee?! In front of tight-arse Kanda, of all people?! Allen wanted to bury himself in a hole. He wanted to scrub his lips off, because it hadn't been disgusting enough. He wanted to wail and shout and beat up everything, even the air around them. He didn't want to question possible swings or ranges in his sexuality, since he'd never thought about it before. He'd always assumed that he was straighter than Jeryy's ladle. It had been safe. He just wanted to vanish. Time to stop. Be free. Take a break and recuperate. And to heck with the agree-

'Was it your first kiss, boy? Your innocence is so sweet...'

Anything further was interrupted by having to evade silver flashes of death and destruction morphing into reddish-gold. The Noah might have to get serious, courtesy of the author and current storyline coming to an end.

'First Illusion: Hell's Insects!'

Vision went dark and giddy, as one exorcist found himself tilted at an alarming angle. The floor and ceiling and walls exchanged roles at jarring speed. And as it became a bit more settled, Allen Walker found himself looking at damp snow. Or Tyki's sweat-stained shirt covering the back, to be exact. He was very confused and disoriented and possibly wanting to throw up, especially since they now appeared to be going in circles.

Shickshick-

All Kanda could see was a scumbag he wanted to wipe out in a glorious bloody slashfest of too many separated body parts to count. To hell with the exit.

'Why so worked up? Allen-chan's love life has nothing to do with your Order. Talk about behaving almost like a jealous lover! You've already damaged two walls, exorcist. You might not want to do that to the rest, especially NOT the 4th-' Golden eyes gleamed almost gleefully, punctuated by mocking laughter.

'WHY THE HELL NOT, FLATASS PERVERT?! **RETURN BEANSPROUT OR YOU'RE BOTH DEAD!** '

ShiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiickSssssssssssssss-

'K-Kanda, WAI-'

Nothing happened. The question never got answered.

All paper-thin sides of the room started swaying, the last wall of red and white and black finally collapsing inwards with a soft swoooooooooooosh like a house of cards. The crash of the ceiling however, was not so soft on all of them.

**THUMP.**

Shaking his head, a groggy Destroyer of Time shivered and opened his eyes. How had he wound up on the floor? Why was he feeling hot? Was that because of the chilli and dragonfruit pie Bak had made him eat with his dinner, claiming it had been fortified with all sorts of special nutrients? Blankets had been pushed to the side of the bed, and there was a chill in his bones. He ached all over, but his head and backside hurt the most, as if they'd been socked by a mallet. He'd really exerted himself today while sparring against Fou, to try and regain his Innocence-

The sparsely furnished room was peaceful, illuminated by moonlight coming through one window. He looked down at the stump of his left arm with a somewhat bitter smile. At least in the dream, his Innocence had been whole and returned to him. Damn Tyki. A bandaged right hand drifted up to touch his lips. Dry. Whew. And he felt the rest of himself to check. The chest was intact and unburnt. Definitely just a dream. At least it hadn't been Kanda kissing him, because that would be way too weird and he wouldn't even know whether it'd be better or worse- Wait, he was not comparing Tyki Mikk and Kanda Yuu, was he? Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Burying his face in one hand, dark eyes opened. What the- What a dream. His mouth was dry, and he felt like retching. His cheeks felt too warm. Tossing back the blankets, Kanda Yuu stepped out of bed and walked over to the window. The back of his skull seemed to throb. Eyeing the moon, it was too shiny white as usual, and not attractive. Thank the stars for that. Remembered mental trauma of the beansprout and the Noah kissing- He needed some pills for his headache and to be as functional as possible. Soon enough, he would follow General Tiedoll to Edo. After today's evening meal, he would never eat anything besides soba again, especially not that damn curry udon made by Jeryy.

And with that thought, the clench of his jaw relaxed. Nope, he was not concerned for a certain exorcist, nor affected by a silly nightmare. Not in any way. His eyebrow was merely twitching away an itch. Where was a sweetshop to destroy, when you felt like it?

Anyway, it had been rather enjoyable. But was it real? Whistling a merry tune as he stretched and heard the comfortable crick of stiff bones, Tyki Mikk smiled and got up from the rocking chair. Glancing at the chipped mirror nearby, it was good to confirm he was in his white mode. Pursing his lips, he let out a sigh and smiled. Sleeping in a chair couldn't beat sleeping in a bed though, not to mention the dreams- Allen Walker, eh… Not as detestable as he'd thought, after all. At least not for tonight's dream. Eeez's first attempt at making lemon biscuits for supper had been delicious, and probably partially responsible for this enjoyable dream.

He might not give the exorcist up to Road and besides, had a tiny feeling Allen Walker and his dicey companion would be encountered again, for the kill. More than once. But first, he had to go and meet the Millennium Earl. Being busy was good.

Having fun in the process was even better. Heh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **((A mathematical anomaly to have such temperatures at the same time but then again, Kanda's always been good at maths and no, this has no logic or relevance on the scientific impossibility, or should I say, possibility in this dreaming.))


	3. Time and Chaos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The exorcist capable of messing with time unexpectedly encounters a certain Kamelot of foreign affairs, and all sorts of sparks fly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Miranda Lotto has come a long way since her early days as an unsuccessful insomniac. With so much room for further evolution… All she needed was a break. If she encounters a Noah, which one of them might be intrigued and might be able to help her evolve further? It’s not Lulu-Bell, although the idea is tempting.
> 
> What would a haughty womanising sadist with a manipulative complex mind, functioning as a minister of foreign affairs, be able to see? How might they affect each other? Things might progress, until a third DGrayman character crashes the dreamscape. 
> 
> Spoilers until chapter 225.

**Time and Chaos**  
  
What had happened here?

She could not remember how she had arrived at this place. The signs of a ferocious battle previously having transpired all around her was undeniable, and it was unclear as to whether those in combat were still somewhere in the vicinity or had permanently abandoned this madness. Giant gaping uneven potholes were completely robbed of greenery, forlorn and desolate. Tendrils of choky smoke rose from blackened pits gouged into a raw and exposed plateau. Deep and shallow furrows criss-crossing in exposed ochre soil made the terrain hard to walk through without the possibility of stumbling and twisting an ankle, if not careful.

Fractured fiery-red tree trunks of all sizes were jammed into the ground at odd angles, some with tangled manacles of roots exposed, some without any head or canopy left- The entire extent of destruction could have been mistaken as an artistic frenzy of inexplicable mania, except it would take tremendous force and power to uproot trees and do such terrible landscaping within a certain circumference, as far as the eye could see.

Boulders were unmercifully splayed in all directions. Plugged into the ground, their final agonised positions of worship gone wrong had not been allowed complete burial. Supine and flattened by the impact of possibly having been hurled from a giant hand of a tempestuous god- The scorched tortured landscape was enlivened by a lone white tower soaring to the sky, silver spires gleaming- Topmost partition blown open into a jagged scowl. A pale green glow from whatever was within that exposed chamber was scarcely visible from where she stood, but the colour looked sickly, giving the partially-intact structure a pitiful bareness of clinging to life.

Gaping irregular black rents in a plaster-white cloudless sky was unnerving. No insects chittering, no birdsong, no breeze to relieve oppressive humidity, even though the sun was setting, an eerie red emitting chill without any yellow warmth- It was too quiet.

How was she going to find the rest of the Black Order? This was not another attack on a base or a camp, a place she did not recognise, and how had she gotten here? Was this still in the waking world, or was this a dream? Why did this scenery feel… personal?

Something broke the silence. The odd sound made her turn to look, clutching a certain suitcase closer to her chest.

Somewhere in the distance but getting closer was the grind of something continuous and relentless, large and careless. Not a vehicle, animal, cart- What was that noise?

Have you ever seen a battering ram used as a surfboard on the surface of topsoil, used to plough everything in the way? That was what a lone exorcist found herself confronted with: Impossibility of a toppled muddied tree trunk stripped of all branches and forced as some form of transport heading in her direction, but no sign of a harness or any physical controls from the person standing atop it.

Long dark hair partially bound in a bun, loose strands were whipped back by the wind. Arms crossed, lazy confidence and a certain haughtiness in the way he held himself aloof and aloft without swaying while making his current position look so easy to maintain, as if he were breathing rarefied air, the tall lean man with a thin serious face was garbed in an odd skin-fitting white pants-to-boots getup and a sleeveless clinging floor-length white coat exposing part of his chest, dark skin not important until she saw the single line of black stigmata across his forehead, and- Their gazes met. It was enough to make Miranda Lotto quickly activate her Innocence, creating a domed barrier large enough to enclose her on all sides and under her feet.

Just in time, because the abused log became an airborne projectile gaining insane speed, smashing into the dome with a tremendous crash. It would have crushed her where she stood, stopped only by her barrier. Such a violent collision absorbed by Time Out was enough to make her step backwards, wood chips and larger fragments bouncing everywhere outside. Quickly righting herself, where was her antagonist? Turning in a half-circle, Miranda realised the man was now standing on the opposite side of the dome, less than twenty metres away. He was smiling at her in a friendly manner, and in the process of raising one arm, left hand outstretched as if to say Hello.

If she had any chance of getting out alive, Miranda Lotto badly needed to know which Noah he was, judging from boulders of varying sizes rising from all sides and positioning themselves in mid-air, from as far as fifty metres away, readying to launch a relentless assault on her defensive barrier from too many angles. Her endurance in this technique withstanding attacks of fierce savagery could not last forever.

Forcing herself to look away, forcing herself to concentrate and ignore what she knew her Time Record was about to feel, she quickly sank to her knees, and opened the suitcase. Inside was a notebook she meticulously maintained, whenever she had time to look through certain papers and books inside the libraries at the different Black Order branches, depending on her location and missions. Hevlaska had told her no exorcist in the history of the Black Order had ever possessed a non-combat Innocence as unique as Miranda's. Therefore, no research or advice had ever been recorded, in terms of being able to help such Innocence types evolve to the level of Innocence used by Generals. However, Hevlaska had also suggested historical notes of past scientists at the Black Order might be able to give Miranda ideas as to how to progress further.

Furthermore, Komui had once advised Miranda about how she could best mount an effective defence and minimise wasting her energy while prolonging her different techniques as best as possible. She had to be keenly aware of her limits and strategise, which included quickly recognising enemies who would attack her or those she could protect, especially highly-stressful life-or-death situations if any Noah clan members were involved.

Flipping through the pages to the recently-updated section about Noah clan members -after Kanda had gone missing, and Allen Walker was also missing after breaking out from the Black Order headquarters due to at least one Noah clan member- the picture matching a certain Noah currently attacking her was just above a stapled scrap of paper containing descriptions in a single paragraph attached to that page (courtesy of the Black Order's Asian Branch). Black typeface leapt out at her, each word enlarging a tiny caterpillar of fear growing inside her, especially the last line underlined in bold.

[ The Noah of Desire appears to have the power of telekinesis. Able to control human limbs as he pleases, move water pipes and other physical objects, without any physical controls. Third Exorcist Tokusa's legs was broken in multiple places without using physical force, according to now-missing exorcist. Calls himself a wholly unrepentant sadist. May enjoy psychological mind games and torture. Possibly one of the most intelligent Noah enemies. Unless the exorcist can combat him while unaffected by his powers, engagement has a 99.9% chance of defeat and death. **Theoretically, if low likelihood of conversation happens, do not display any fear or weakness with this Noah, and appear as calm as possible**. ]

If this manipulative Noah could control human limbs- He could easily overpower her. Why didn't he do so? Was he playing with her, and entertaining himself? Or… was he unable to do so, because of the protective barrier her Time Record had enacted, being Innocence? In this situation, what should she do?!

Refusing to look up, aware of repeatedly heavy impact at many points against her barrier, she swallowed. She had to appear calm. She had to sound calm. She had to halt his attacks momentarily, which would be hard enough to achieve. A permanent pause would be nothing short of a miracle. A rising crest of nausea akin to panic was threatening to clog her windpipe-

_I have confidence in you, Miranda. You are much stronger than you realise, pushing yourself to the limit, enabling us to fight and survive many incidents where we would have died. Stay strong. We will find Allen, and you can finally show him what you have achieved, to help him and all our friends._

Krory. That statement of his was unexpected solace, and to remember it- She might not be able to fight using her Innocence as the other exorcists used their Innocence, but she could provide support. And she would fight, with everything she had. There was nobody to help her. She could not go back to the previous times, when she was unsure and blabbering profusely, all fingers and thumbs and apologising for anything and everything. She could not afford to let this enemy see her former wreckage of self. She had to move forward. She had to survive. She would see Marie and the others again. Concentrate!

_I must appear calm. I must make him want to talk to me. I must have value in his eyes. If he is an aristocrat just like many other aristocrats I have previously worked for, especially if he is snobbish, I must speak and behave in a similar manner. Thankfully, I have seen enough of how they function and preen and act to get what they want, thanks to being fired and hired from so many households, before… before buying that clock._

She thought of the speech patterns of Noise Marie and Arystar Krory, who had in turn influenced her own changes in speech. She remembered when they were calm. Clearing her throat and closing her eyes for a moment, making a short silent mental prayer while taking a few deep breaths, she decided on her strategy.  


* * *

 

Oh my. Being a Noah was finally worth the boredom. This Innocence was fun to play with. Directing all sorts of objects and projectiles at the glowing dome created no literal damage but more importantly, the reason why he could only attack this barrier was because he realised he could not use his powers on this human. As far as he was aware, no current exorcist could resist his power if he chose to affect them, no matter how skilful in combat.

Was the barrier borne of Innocence interfering with his talents? Such a barrier would be very special, to be able to do so. How did it function, and how did it protect the user from his powers? What was the exorcist within? A General? No general of the Black Order had ever refrained from attacking a Noah when confronted, and the level of power he was experiencing did not fit the levels he expected of a General. But her reaction was skilfully quick, and her behaviour-

Instead of panicking or attacking him after creating this barrier, she had reacted as if he did not exist, lowering herself to the ground and opening a plain black suitcase to read something inside a book. A woman who ignored him and his charms or power was a rarity. Man or woman, remaining calm in such a situation against a Noah, even when he had repeatedly assaulted the barrier using crude forcefulness- Surely she must feel energy being drained or more than that, to sustain her shield. If she had felt every attack and could still weather whatever she felt- This one would not be easy to break. Was she able to attack him, or was her Innocence a rare non-combat type? Could she be the Heart?

A dark surge of glee could not be repressed. His darling daughter Road was still missing. A dried-out Bookman's mouth appeared to be sealed shut more firmly than a steel coffin buried at least ten thousand feet underground. Torturing that midget's yappy unattractive apprentice to make the wizened wretch talk had proved to be completely unentertaining and non-stimulating. Creating strife between countries was not a difficult task, given his political position.

Tricia was a dutiful boring spouse of sufficiently-compromised health whose bed he never had to share, since she believed in not passing on her illness to her husband or his family. She had been very grateful to Sheril for marrying her, since she had been considered by finer society as being left too long on the marriage market. It had been easy to convince her after a predictable pattern of courtship designed to make her believe his intentions were non-platonic, sympathetic, and sincere. In the process, he also managed to make her believe he was afflicted with a certain health condition, thus sparing himself the mechanics of consummating their marriage, while capturing her trust and protective instincts. Adopting Road, then Wisely, merely bolstered his story.

He was not above gratitude. He occasionally read her to sleep in his arms, while regularly encouraging the family doctor and servants to emphasise not overdoing things with her illness, thus indirectly rendering her more of an invalid than she realised. Having a fragile naïve wife to easily control was almost as enjoyable as having enough freedom to do what he pleased with the rest of his time, such as looking after his adorable adopted child when not carrying out his political duties.

Having relatives turned out to be quite useful. The Millennium's Earl's ideas involving Exorcists were typically straightforward and boring. Any of the other Noah clan members could be the required killing fighting main machines, and there was no shortage of family candidates. They allowed him to concentrate on what he enjoyed doing. The frills of having a family and children to partake of high society was too beautiful to miss, but his silly sexy brother Tyki was still resisting. Despite having everything he could think of wanting, including a gorgeous mansion and many servants and people to take care of his every whim, all of it was unsatisfying to something deeper within Sheril Kamelot.

Life would have been mentally and emotionally ditch-water dull, except for his duties as a minister and the accompanying web of intrigue and complications behind the scenes. And his darling Road, who should have been around to make a sweet sinister accomplice of her current adopted new-old brother Wisely-kun. Road. His Road. Missing. Still missing. Still not found!

His state of mental foulness had trudged on for too many days, but this unexpected adventure was significantly improving his mood. Touching one luminous yellow clock face, the Noah was quick to withdraw his index finger from a hostile surface, frowning over singed skin. All these clocks… What had silly Lulu-Bell manage to choke out, before fleeing to sob bitterly in her room after failing to bring back the Egg?

Just when she was about to finish her mission while using the Ark to succeed, an exorcist had exercised an invocation to manipulate Time and reverse the Egg's download back into the Black Order's headquarters, thus allowing the Generals to inflict significant damage to the Egg, before Allen Walker finally destroyed her joy and pride. The bitch was also responsible for reversing and containing the injuries experienced by exorcists, so they could fight.

Marvellous. Being able to alter or toy with any aspect of time and its effects was a powerfully unique talent of complexities, which was rare if it ever manifested, and could be applied to many situations. In his Noah memories, no exorcist had ever possessed an Innocence capable of doing so. If this talent could be used to their advantage, the possibilities- Could this exorcist be made to join them, just as easily as the remnants of the Third Exorcist Project had been swayed, after being brought back to the Ark? How?

For the first time, the instinctive desire of the Noah to kill exorcists and destroy Innocence was easily tempered with- Well, Sheril never had a problem controlling his Noah instincts, simply because the instincts had never been triggered with extreme emotions. He demanded complete control and refused to allow himself to be lost. Oddly enough, his Noah memories were not quickened to anger or hate or rage when contemplating Innocence or exorcists; merely dipped into a smooth deep well of contempt and something else he could not understand.

The one time he risked allowing himself to feel everything the Noah of Desire felt and thought, and consciously attempted to merge them together? He wasn't sure if a full awakening had happened or not, because the sensations had not been unpleasant or extreme or a struggle. If anything, the word "weird" was most appropriate, because he couldn't identify the stultifying bouquet of emotions he had to experience. Bobbing up and down in a wooden paddleboat on an uninspiring pond of too many lily pads infested with unknown underwater creatures was the best description he could come up with, and his vocabulary still failed to capture that experience in any language he possessed.

Sheril did not know if the other Noah family clan members reacted in such a similar manner within their thoughts, upon pondering subjects such as Innocence and exorcists and never-forgiving-God. However, he could assume the nature of his previous incarnations was safely more mature and cautious than the likes of a deceased Skinn Bolic, the latest incarnation of a simple-minded fool personifying the Noah of Wrath.

Knowing Allen Walker was The Fourteenth who had killed Sheril's Noah of Desire and other Noah family members in a previous incarnation, thirty-five years ago? Gleeful compulsion was a natural reaction to level the score and prevent a tragedy from happening again… easily accomplished by killing that damn traitor first. Nothing homicidal or unreasonable in such a train of deduction. Anger was triggered only when his Road became involved and fought him on this, and then she had disappeared- It took several seconds to tamper down the dark flash of something sharply ugly surging through his subconscious and into his awareness.

This exorcist, though… The urge to slay her and destroy her Innocence was heating his blood and Noah memories. But what made this urge to kill exorcists unusually diluted was a parallel stream of emotions from his Noah memories becoming just as vivid but more insistent, reacting to this current situation. Whatever the Noah of Desire had been in previous incarnations, curiosity was obviously a strong trait. Half-spoken questions Sheril could not completely decipher were quickly hissed and gone. As if studying an hourglass filled with different varieties of sand, slipping and falling through space… Wanting to know. Wanting to see. Thirsty. Explore. If wanting to study and discover was one word, Sheril Kamelot would say the Noah of Desire was… fascinated. And it suited him perfectly to be in unison, on the same subject matter.

She was looking at him, rising to stand in one liquid motion, hands by her sides, unnamed book no longer visible inside the closed suitcase left standing on the ground behind her. And she was walking towards him.

Despite the barrier between them, being this close and able to peer through the largest possible transparent-but-no-less-painful-to-his-skin impermeable space between dratted clock faces allowed him to get a good grasp of details, where this exorcist was concerned. She might be approximately Lulu-Bell's height in those chunky flat black boots. A stylish black and white uniform covered too much from chin to ankle with a high collar, the Order's familiar ostentatious insignia large and sewn over her left breast, sadly opaque material clinging to her like a second skin-

Unlike Lulu-Bell possessing pouty lips to go with a doll-like face and body many human males would view as gorgeous or sexy or beautiful but was controlled by a simple brain -thus making her entire package boringly dull and almost outwardly vulgar to Sheril- this exorcist had less delicate but sweeter features to portray a mild-mannered appearance, almost timid... Masking a mind he knew nothing about. Bright brown eyes large and inquisitive, pale skin unblemished by the sun, loosely tousled hair extending below her shoulders would be better appreciated if her clothing had exposed her neck and more skin. Graceful and slim body proportions less curvaceous than Lulu-Bell, a sylph rather than a bacchante- Everything he had used to experimentally hammer at her Innocence stayed on the ground. No new physical objects were raised, as his expression remained serious.

'My apologies. Where are my manners, when faced with a lady? I have yet to introduce myself properly. You are…?'

'Not pleased to meet you, Sir Noah,' was the calm reply finishing his sentence for him, leaving him bemused. Her accent was light and almost imperceptible, wording formal and voice gentle, a certain pattern of enunciation enabling Sheril to identify her as a fellow European. She was answering him in fluent English, but her accent did not contain any of the expected tonal phrasing from a native speaker of the British Empire, nor English as a first language. Which country did she hail from? And perhaps she had a point.

He had just displayed terrible manners toward a stranger who might be of a certain class, attempting to kill her before conversing with her, so it was understandable if she was very unimpressed and somewhat disinclined to further their sudden acquaintance after he had started out on the wrong foot, metaphorically speaking.

'If I had known the Black Order had such an unusual exorcist in its ranks, I would have visited much sooner, to find you,' was his offer of an indirect retreat grasping for a way to apologise, punctuated with a tentative fleeting smile. It obviously would not suffice, seeing her lips remain primly closed, as if newly starched with a hot iron. Attempting distraction, Sheril decided to stop feigning coolness and allow some unabashed curiosity to slip through. 'Your Innocence is admirable, keeping you safe from me in more ways than you can imagine. Are you able to attack me with your Innocence, milady?'

Her answer surprised him, positively inspiring him not to keep thinking of sounds she might make, if he was ever forced to do to her what he was doing to a certain Bookman Junior.

'I was wondering why you are here and was prepared to ask you, until you suddenly attacked me. I also hope you will understand why I have no intention of allowing you to break my legs or neck, or twist my limbs in whatever way you wish, Sir Noah. Given your unreliable actions, I will not revoke my Innocence. Are you willing to put your impetuous violent temper on hold, so we may parley?'

'That is so cold and hurtful, coming from someone as lovely as you,' was his equally smooth rejoinder, while trying to smother any sign of sudden delight in his voice. Unexpectedly encountering a smart woman obviously possessing a certain amount of experience with aristocracy or politics or both, and an exorcist! Unlike Lulu-Bell, he suddenly wanted to see her in makeup, possibly wearing a sleeveless sun dress and having tea with him, slowly picking her brain and finding out more about this enemy. All the better, if makeup did not significantly improve her features, because it would be easier and quicker to strip away whatever he desired.

Even now, her pale pink lips were a delicate shade of modesty, and innocently kissable. Such calm, despite knowing what he could do to people and what she had just experienced- If she attained the level of a General, what would her powers become? The idea was exciting. Exciting!

When he woke up from this dream, he must enjoin the Earl to allow him to make plans for persuading this exorcist to join them, by any means necessary. It was a mission he would be happily willing to solely undertake and persist in succeeding, including reluctantly ending her life if she refused too many times. She was more interesting than that something-Walker, a boring youth with a straightforward predictable personality containing The Fourteenth traitor and hence of some interest, but still garnered too much fixation from those he knew, especially his Road.

If he was the one to make the final choice instead of the Millennium Earl, something-Walker would be dead and not buried, due to being splattered into an irreversible pulp or too many tiny pieces, for the fishes to eat. And if he could make a final choice regarding this exorcist, kidnapping her would be a wonderful window of opportunity to persuade her, and see what her powers would become at the level of a General. For now, he must smooth her ruffled feathers while seeking an opening, since he had probably ruffled more than feathers. A serious unsmiling expression was adopted, contrition in every word which followed.

'My sincerest apologies, for acting so hastily. Your fellow exorcists tend to be more quickly and spontaneously aggressive whenever they encounter a Noah, which is no justification for my initial rude behaviour of what I expected upon seeing you, but I hope you understand where I am coming from. Rest assured, we are merely conversing. I will not revert to such unsightly tactics, unless you force me to do so. I hope you will grace me with your actual name, as I am now giving you mine. Sheril Kamelot is pleased to make your acquaintance, while looking forward to doing more than that, in future.'

Ah, she had heard something or was aware of his name. Those eyes had widened momentarily when it was mentioned, although her expression remained unchanged. How much prettier would she be, if she smiled? Not an easy one to crack, but he welcomed challenges. It would be such a pleasure to do so, where she was concerned, especially when he intended to do far more than that to her.

'Your apology is accepted, Sir Sheril Kamelot. I am Miranda Lotto. You and I travel in different circles and countries. Would you happen to know where we are, and how did you come to be in this place?'

'Please call me Sheril. The name Miranda originated in Latin. Worthy of admiration… There is much I can admire about you, and your beauty would be even more exquisite, if you smile,' sounded like a reluctant confession, while careful to keep a smile off his face. Every possible trait, verbal or facial or restrained, could be used as a weapon, to make his audience gradually swallow what he wanted them to believe. That was something she might not be aware of. Right now, he needed to soften her as much as possible, without going overboard.

'As to our current whereabouts, I am afraid I am as clueless as you are, about an exact location. As to how I appeared here, we must be dreaming, unless some other explanation is applicable and neither of us are aware. If it is a higher power, I am delighted to have been given this miracle to meet you, since you are German and I am not,' he finished, finally allowing a shadow of a smile to appear, devoid of flirtation or bantering playfulness. His smile was gentle and unthreatening, with a voice to match, as he turned the spotlight fully on her. 'But if it is a dream, whose dream is it, and why are you here, Miranda?'

Noting the slight flush of her cheeks deepen -as he murmured her name in a quieter tone of implied intimacy- did not alter the meek conciliatory smile he carefully maintained, saying nothing else.

She had blushed at his compliment about her beauty and was probably no longer impervious, starting to thaw. He would press for every concession he could obtain. If she had grown up sheltered from much of the world and was tightly-protected, especially when the Black Order would ensure an exorcist with non-combat Innocence was always accompanied by at least one fellow combat-type exorcist, being alone would be greatly to his advantage.

Since she was staying so proper and politely guarded, how should he proceed? Keep the focus on her? Volunteer some trivia about his powers, and introduce errors into the Black Order's data-keeping? Hm. How would he get her to soften and open to him? What should happen in an actual second encounter not in dreams, and where should it be?

She was not looking at him, eyes briefly averted, before returning to hold his gaze. 'Before I answer you, what are your intentions as a Noah towards me, Sir Sheril Kamelot?' Not giving him time to reply, the rest of her intentions were conveyed in the same tone and manner, gently dropping bricks of facts on his attempts to win her over.

'Forgive me if what I am about to say offends you in any way, but I must be frank. I am having a hard time reconciling two faces. The hostile dangerous stranger wearing a smile who viciously attacked me without provocation, and the gentleman currently speaking to me in a gallant manner dispensing practised flirtatious compliments, as if you are two completely different people. Given your stature and requirements of your position in politics, the ability to adapt so swiftly is second nature. The history of the Noah family toward exorcists is always bloody and final. I have difficulty believing your words, but I am not an unreasonable person, depending on how patterns unfurl, before deciding.'

Aristocrat or not, this exorcist was a persistently careful person, mixing just the right proportions of dignity and diplomatic appeal to his honour in her replies. Enough disarming candour for sidestepping what she did not want to answer, while easily refraining from being rude. Was she also like this, in the waking world? It might be necessary to re-evaluate his initial assumptions about her, if her sweetly unassuming features were the opposite of what went on in her brain. For now, best to refrain from demonstrating his understanding of more than English, despite the cold confines of the English language.

It was all Sheril could do, not to scowl and clap his hands with delight. Miranda Lotto did not bore him, would be a helpfully educational stepmother for Road and Wisely-kun although discipline enforcement was still a huge question mark, while deliciously engaging as a wife every night, in and out of bed- Oh wait, Tricia was still alive. Nothing difficult to fix. But he must not get ahead of himself.

Despite any frivolous fancies temporarily plaguing his brain, the Noah of Desire would grill her thoroughly enough, before deciding if his fancies and whims had any solid potential basis when they returned to reality. He would make choices to ascertain what he was witnessing.

'Are you being adamant about addressing me in such a formal manner, Miranda? I will not be so cold with you, and prove my words are sincere. My intentions as a Noah are not to kill you. You are an attractive exorcist. For the sake of family goals, I am tempted to bring you back to the Ark away from others, to persuade you to our cause. Of my personal intentions, I wish to have tea with you, spending an afternoon hoping you will smile and laugh with me, and teach me more about yourself. Despite our powers, Noah are humans. We possess emotions and desires and dreams. What would you do to me, if our roles were reversed?'

Head tilted to one side, he watched her lips crinkle slightly at the corners, dark brown eyes go unfocused, apparently deep in thought. How would she sound, if she laughed? How would it feel, to waltz around a ballroom, with her as his partner? What would happen, if he kissed her? He had not done any sketches for more than ten years, but his fingers itched to find a sketchbook and pencil, to perhaps capture a picture of her daydreaming by the river.

Heavens, his imagination was feverish with the simplicities of a schoolboy crush. He, Sheril Kamelot, having dallied and known many women of many nationalities and body shapes for years, was wondering about the most insipid details about this woman, as if he were a besotted swain. She was not the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered, and not the most body-beautiful female he had admired. He would not rank her in the top fifty with regards to such women, but the entirety of what he was seeing… He did not remember experiencing such an interest in any woman. Then again, many women and men were not interesting.

It was a good thing she was not by his side when he was at work, or he might have trouble focusing. Thoughts straying towards what he might do to alleviate that problem were immediately shut down.

'I do not know, Sir Sheril Kamelot. There is a gulf in our positions. I am trivial and insignificant, when compared to your achievements. As such, it feels odd to address you more familiarly.' Her reply was barely above a whisper, punctuated with a tiny sigh, making the listener strain his ears and wonder if she meant what she had said. Any iota of condescension or kindness he might have felt toward her vanished, with the rest of her reply.

'And since you appear to be an experienced flirt, I do not think how I address you will make a difference in your perceptions towards me where it matters. If our roles were reversed, I might be tempted to do the same, as you have mentioned… Only I would not be willing to kill you, if you refuse me and thwart my intentions. That is probably where we differ, and I am certain I am correct. What will you do, if I refuse your intentions and goals for me?'

The barriers between them were obviously more than Innocence. She was a capable enemy to banter with. Not willing to open to him, stubbornly guarded in a genteel manner, evasive and mirroring him, almost frustrating- But he had not obtained a senior government position as minister of foreign affairs so early in his career, without a certain amount of foresight and acumen. This was nothing difficult, except for his lack of patience in this situation. Where had that gone?

If this was a chess game, he could not see certain pieces on the chessboard belonging to his target. He needed to gain more useful information, to see the lay-out of her strategy and motives. Time to mix truth with embellishments, be blunt and poetically distracting, to bewilder and introduce the possibility of her being wrong, which would make her more susceptible to whatever he would suggest. Spreading his arms and revealing upturned palms in an apologetic shrug, a long exhalation was irrepressible.

'I might be tempted to kill you, if refused. But I do not want to kill you. To try to persuade you, I must interact with you, while refraining from force. I must also remain unaffected by you, if I wish to stay safe.' His response was intermittently hesitant and anything but smoothly charming, as if this answer was being dragged out of him, revealing what he did not want to face.

'But I will not allow my Noah family to interfere or interact with you, and that decision reveals the threat you pose to me. If you were by my side in the waking world, there are many questions I want to ask you, such as-'

Using whatever bits of green grass were undestroyed on the ground, little green blades floated into his left hand, shaping themselves to become a flower of six petals, with no stalk or leaves. Letting it rest in his palm while lowering his voice, he held the small blossom up, for the exorcist to see. And as expected, she ventured a little closer. Instead of ten paces, they were now less than six paces apart.

'Have you lounged on Persian cushions in a Venetian gondola at sunrise, watching the gentle lapping of indistinguishable waves, as the surrounding darkness becomes a sweeping September blue so magnificent, it takes your breath away?' was the first of several questions, to capture her imagination and spark surprise. If any of the Noah could paint with words, the Noah of Desire was most suited to the art of such a task. 'Do you know the joy of being able to beckon fireflies to come to you and appreciate their mating dances all about you, a festival of tiny rainbow lights in a field of night?'

Those eyes were lovely, when they were large with confusion. Sheril Kamelot's voice had slowly become quieter, resulting in her stepping a little closer, a reaction most people would naturally produce if their guard was sufficiently lowered toward the speaker. Perfect. 'Have you ever caressed the face of a lover, alight with discovery and wonder, tugging at your heartstrings, while greedy for more of the secrets they share only with you?'

Despite dangling by her side, fingers of her right hand were now balled into a fist and shaking slightly. How far down her body did that blush on her cheeks go? Separated only by a detestable barrier, if he reached out, he would not need to fully extend his arm to touch her. His gaze never left her face, enunciation becoming softer and more languid, unwilling to allow her to break their connection.

'I have dreams I choose not to disclose to anyone else. I do not trust easily. Nobody suitable has ever touched my life. You are unusual. Strange thoughts stir in my blood. I desire to give in to the urge to possibly share them with you, Miranda Lotto, and risk being betrayed. You have experienced much betrayal from fellow human beings, but in a different manner, when you were clumsy and stumbling for refinement. In your eyes are the vestiges of a scarred dreamer, someone shy and reserved and reluctant to be seen, until someone is bold enough to speak of vulnerability, and invite you to let yourself be seen.'

His lady exorcist had now taken a step backwards, lips parted as if to reply or refute. Mildly trembling lashes were sliding shut, adding to the tragically enchanting picture she was presenting, but no sound was forthcoming. He knew he had hit a vital emotional pivot.

The next words were wistful, an indirect plea for not being hastily misjudged. 'Were any of those questions what you expected me to ask? Did you think I could only be what you imagine, when you know so little about me? How badly do you think of me? Will one unintended mistake blight my possibilities forever, in your experience?'

Those darkly alluring eyelashes had ceased movement, at his change of field in questioning. He slowly turned away, as if reluctant to do so, but knew it was necessary. 'I accept your suspicions, your doubt, your wariness. Certain Noah family members have killed exorcists in significant numbers, but I have never taken any lives of your exorcist comrades. When the Millennium Earl decided to awaken Alma Karma, I took control of your scientists and other members of the Black Order. I marched them to the same chamber, keeping them immobile, but I did not kill any of them, although I could easily do so. The Black Order has very little information about me, although I have been a Noah for more than ten years. I have mostly chosen not to participate in the Millennium Earl's schemes. Killing is a distasteful action to me.'

After all, when one could completely control akuma, all of them obeying him as much as they adored his darling Road, what need was there for killing others and getting messy, when distasteful tasks could be easily delegated?

'I appeal to your standards of fairness, to consider what I have confessed. Miranda, would you-'

Before he could finish, a thin whistling sound from high overhead had Sheril glancing up and quickly leaping backwards. The enormous head of a certain hammer smashed into the ground where he had been standing.

Ah, an irritating familiar interruption. Hm.  


* * *

 

Never had she been happier for unexpected diversions. Vibrations from a loud **BOOM** nearly knocked her off her feet, due to the attack of something from someone happening right outside her Time Out. A massive wave of relief did the rest, mercifully bringing Miranda Lotto to her knees.

Acting was truly a tough job. Being a housekeeper had been much easier. Being fired by numerous households was significantly preferable to sharing the same space as this- this- Noah. Conversing with Sheril Kamelot was the most stressful chore she had ever endured in her life. It took every ounce of determination she possessed, not to turn and run. Through it all, she had this almost-insane urge to scream at him to stop looking at her and stammer anything about how this was not who or what she really was- But doing so would be a form of suicide.

Under his relentless focus, inner Miranda trembled with the nervousness of an insect stalked by a spider while trapped within its web. To be the eye of the storm was disconcerting. He was not conventionally handsome or good-looking, his looks might appeal only to certain women or grow on some others, but a vortex of charisma was undeniable, and not merely in the way he conducted himself. Coupled with using his voice in ways she had never experienced outside of theatres containing actors, whose oratory skills and bearing could make anyone swoon-

No wonder he had become minister of foreign affairs for Portugal at such a young age. She read newspapers daily, which was why she could recognise his name. It had once surprised her, to learn about such a senior position going to a relatively young man who had just turned thirty. Then she had turned the page, to be distracted by a lengthy article about potential impending war between certain European countries.

He was obviously exercising minimal effort when attacking her. She did not want to know what he could do, if inspired to enthusiasm. The viciousness of his Noah powers in combat were frightening enough, and even without using them? If people were ascribed forces of nature, he would be a hurricane strong enough to cause seismic earthquakes and flatten entire towns, even if the idea might sound implausible, as it had been quite a while since she perused any geology books. As it was, she was already deeply troubled by this short conversation with him. He was probably being mercifully tactful.

Being with Marie made her feel stable and safe, his words and concern wrapping her in a warm skein of evenness careful not to rock a paper boat in a pail of water. Emboldened by his friendship and encouragement, as well as Krory's equally enthusiastic support, she had been able to see herself in a kinder and more competent light. Eventually learning to accept how male strangers could express non-platonic intentions towards her had been an uncomfortable reality to acknowledge, ever since she had been able to gain constant sufficient sleep and benefit from Jeryy's cooking, without mental flailing and turning into a cowering wreck each time she was paid unexpected compliments.

Sheril Kamelot was anything but comforting. This man was talking to her with unconcealed something-she-had-yet-to-figure-out, his interest was warm and obviously not platonic, and he was too inquisitive. His tone was by turns serious and repentant, light and playful, but he made her feel too much with his words. The way he looked at her was almost criminal.

Golden eyes were as unmalleable as brass statues, but there was something about them, a sense of proprietary possessiveness in the way he watched her. His voice somehow felt personal, with a tenacity she had rarely encountered… Except maybe with a certain Leverrier, whose condescending-praying-mantis appraisal and clinically-detached statements perpetually veering between dismissive and slippery made her feel slimy. Disturbing her world emotionally and mentally, challenging her perceptions, this Noah was forcing her to exert her will against his.

Despite being Portuguese, he had smoothly initiated their conversation in English while adopting a crisp accent easily found among the leading aristocrats of London, which indirectly spoke volumes about his linguistic abilities. She did not speak any of the languages of Portugal, and if he was sufficiently competent or fluent in that country's official language, as well as French or Spanish… Might he understand German? Did he speak the language of her home country? If he had not disclosed his name, she would have concluded he was an Englishman. How much of his behaviour was sincere, and how much was faked?

Although she told herself he was a professional flirt with a talent for acting, who was trying to pry and worm his way into her good graces for the sake of deceiving her, because they were enemies and he was a Noah destined to destroy everything she fought for… It was hard to dismiss everything about him into that category.

His descriptions had scored deep, raking and unearthing a myriad jumble of long-buried fancies and humiliating moments as a failed housekeeper and servant from years ago. She did not know if her acting was proficient. Was he behaving in such a manner towards her, because he believed they were similarly elevated in societal status? She would not allow this to continue.

They were opposites, on opposing sides, battling for opponents which could never be reconciled. He was trying to destroy humanity and murder her friends. She was trying to save humans and keep her friends alive. Considering the idea of being friends with him would be a deadly game she could not survive, which he had indirectly suggested- No, he might have been implying more than that, which was even more terrifying.

If Sheril Kamelot had been on the side of the Black Order, he would be such a potent force for good. Enduring the microscope of his analytical mind made it impossible not to acknowledge incisive intelligence. Although she lacked the benefits of an education balanced in arts and sciences growing up, she could recognise the standards he possessed, to be able to speak to her like that. Oratorically gifted, probably well-versed in literary arts and a diverse array of topics containing far more boring details, this Noah as an enemy was a nightmare to deal with, if one had no choice.

Speaking of choice, who had saved her from the choice of replying to a certain Noah's unfinished question?

Getting up and running over to the border of her defensive barrier, she peered out, and gasped- 'L-Lavi!'

That hammer- Although his back was to her, he had been wearing that get-up before he and Bookman vanished, after Kanda had escaped due to Allen Walker using the Ark. Nobody at the Black Order had been able to contact Bookman or his apprentice, and Komui had been worried about the possibility of them being kidnapped by the Millennium Earl's Noah family, and maybe enduring the same fate as the kidnapped Third Exorcists. But the Third Exorcists had joined the Millennium Earl, fighting alongside the Noah. Of Lavi and Bookman, there had been no sign… until now.

He might not have heard her. She screamed his name, even as his fire seal was unleashed against the only Noah in this dreamscape. A fiery dragon burned into a massive shield of tree trunks and rocks hastily crammed together, spending itself before it could reach the target standing on the other side.

' **LAVI**! We have been looking for you and Bookman! Please come here-'

The teenager hurtling through her field of clocks and into the safety of her Innocence barrier landed on his side with a sickening crunch and rolled over several times, eventually coming to a stop face-first on the ground, hammer shrinking and silent where it had first been dropped. Dashing over, she knelt to put one arm under his neck, to carefully turn him over, and see if he was alright- And sharply inhaled, forgetting to breathe out.

God. What had happened to him? What had been done to him?!

A trembling hand reached out, pushing away the headband darkening with a reddish-brown stain. The front of his clothes was a shredded mess barely hanging together. Whatever she could see of his skin was a mottled and scarred patchwork of degrading despair, bruises ranging from blue-black to sickly green, cankerous sores, open wounds all along his arms and legs oozing a translucent yellowish fluid mingling with blood- Where- Where were the fingernails?

His nose was a badly misshapen disfigured lump, lips swollen and cracked, no eyebrows except two raw strips of flesh- A whimper escaped her lips. If it were not for spending time with him and other exorcists on missions, she would not have been able to recognise him. Pulling him closer, left hand cradling the back of his head, using the other arm and her knees to help support him, tears could not be restrained. Seeing a human and dear friend in such horrible straits was-

'L-Lavi, what h-happened to you?! W-who did this, and w-why-'

'M-Miranda? I need to tell you c-certain things, and I… I don't know how much time I have…'

The world outside her Time Out ceased to exist, as she listened to the wracked uneven whispers of a teenager who had obviously experienced a lot of agony and was fighting to breathe evenly.

'Gramps and I were captured by the Noah- J-just after all of you were attacked b- by different Noah members in different locations, a- and camps were destroyed. I can… barely… hold myself together. In the wa-waking world, I'm a mess. This dream… is mine. Gramps is not talking. I am being tortured- T-to try to force him to do so. I don't… know… if I will live. Parasites from a Noah n- named Fiddler are inside me… But the Noah who- who-'

Clutching him tighter, head bowed, choking back sobs while trying to listen without being overwhelmed by her own emotions, Miranda could not stop the flow of tears silently dripping onto her friend's face.

'Listen- There's something about Ah- Allen being held responsible f- For the Noah Road Kamelot disappearing… She controls dreams. A certain Noah is furious about that… w-wants to know the relationship between Road and t- The Fourteenth inside Allen… Fourteenth Noah supposed to take over his body o-one day… The Noah who is angry and killing me…'

The left hand suddenly gripping her lower forearm was too tight, but she endured it. She would remember every word, forcing back the emotions threatening to choke her, because she had to concentrate, if Lavi was truly-

'You have to- Must- Careful of Sheril. N-Noah of Desire. Monster with a human face. All the akuma… afraid of him. My dream shows how badly damaged I- I am. Emotionally… psychologically… physically… He'll weave words to m-make you reveal yourself… and emotions… then he hurts you. Don't… ever… trust him… And don't-'

Spots of blood spattered the front of her uniform, as Lavi coughed. 'Don't show him… suppress your misery or pain... He acts too well… Must let The Order know… if Gramps and I are never heard again… He is the Noah I a-attacked just now. Thank you… for making it here… Mi.. Ran-'

The exorcist in her arms went limp. And- was she seeing smoke, blurring the outlines of his body? What did all this mean?! No. NO-

'Miranda Lotto, we must talk.'

Her head felt as if it would explode. Sorrow constricted something in her chest, the sharpest sensations of a pincushion of needles replacing her heart. Lavi… The Noah killing him… Saying her name, as Lavi's body was evaporating in her arms. Too many had died already. Anita. Mahoja. An entire ship of sailors- _I won't let you die, Lavi! I won't let you go… Enough friends have been lost… The Noah- Despite so much suffering, you pushed yourself this far, hoping someone would hear you. I hear you. I will not waste your strength. I will take whatever I can find about this Noah, from him._

_He wants to use my emotions against me, and manipulate me with his words? We will see._

Raising her head, refusing to wipe away her pain, she decided to stop the tears, and face her enemy with what she would not hide. Time to see if any of his words matched his supposed emotions about her. At least this Noah would not have the satisfaction of knowing how loudly she wanted to howl out her grief and hit him in the face. Her powers might be weak in comparison to his Noah talents, but he would not have her deepest emotions or her emotions in their entirety, because he did not deserve it.  


* * *

 

Sheril Kamelot could not shake a queasy sense of foreboding, as he watched the back of a certain woman blocking the other exorcist's face from his sight, his prey in her arms. The feeling grew stronger, as the lad's body began to evaporate in wisps and tendrils. She remained hunched over.

Saying her name did not garner any reaction. He decided to project his voice and state the necessary, after repeating her name. Several seconds passed, before she lifted her head, and slowly rose to her feet. She stayed in that position for several moments, not moving, before slowly turning towards him. And when he could see-

_The unexpected joy of being five-years-old was not so fun, when caught washing his muddy boots in the sink with his granny's best lace cap. The old lady did not say a single word, nor reproach him. But the look on her face- What did she make him feel? What was that emotion? Was it one? Two? More?_

_Guilt. Shame._

The woman he was looking at- Two wet trails tracked down pale cheeks, thin and glistening, to her chin. Her face revealed no expression, but those eyes… Whatever he had felt back then because of that incident with his granny, this was much worse. All sorts of tantrums from jealous lovers had been weathered, he had watched the ways in which a certain exorcist writhed and yelled and wept as he twisted and pinched and used his powers to create an internal wreck, and he had felt nothing for them. But he could not say the same thing now. In fact, it was quite the opposite. Miranda Lotto made him feel more uncomfortable than his deceased grandmother.

What was the eyepatch exorcist to her? Friend? Lover? Did she easily cry for friends, or was the hammer-wielding exorcist special to her? That yappy exorcist had demonstrated mental and emotional strength beyond most men Sheril Kamelot had met, and more perceptive than many exorcists which had been killed, making the teenager seem very mature beyond his years. It wouldn't be surprising if Miranda Lotto had feelings for such an exorcist, even if that one was so young- Oh, how low he had sunk for a mere woman, to ask himself such questions, before realising how daft he would sound for allowing such questions to arise. Too much had melted, including his mental and emotional state of composure.

All this was terribly unfair. But he could see how he might deserve it, because she was not a mere woman. God was a cruel bastard. He had almost believed he would never be able to feel in such ways ever again, if he surrounded himself with whatever could never stir or reach far enough. To reinforce this, he had also adopted certain behaviours and mannerisms, on top of certain choices. Over time, they could be crystallised into beliefs. And wings born of combining those habits had been crafted, to fly over and away from certain flaws, since ugliness could not be eradicated.

Was this how Icarus felt, as the wax on artificial wings melted, pummelled by the realisation of possibly losing his wings and returning to humanity, before he fell?

'H-Have you killed Lavi?'

Perhaps it was a good thing the exorcist with the eyepatch was not yet dead, hence he could honestly make a statement to refute her. Hands motionless by his sides, Sheril shook his head. 'If your friend was truly dead, this dream world would have immediately collapsed, and we would not be talking like this. His dissolving body in your arms is reflection of his inability to stay on in this dream, but he is still alive in the waking world.'

A certain Kamelot was able to reach a certain conclusion: For him to leverage any chance of wresting back control, he had to engage her again, make her believe she could be significant change and was of significance. And tell himself that was all he intended to achieve, without allowing her to do so.

'Hate me or despise me, if you must. But at this point, his life and health are subject to the situation of my interrogation methods. Do you want him back, Miranda?'

'Parasites in his body from your Noah family member must be removed from him, Sir Noah,' was all he received in reply. Hm, so the exorcist had told her certain facts. She had also returned to refusing to use his name. Placating her would not be easy.

'The parasites in his body can only be removed by the Noah who infected him. Miranda, if you wish to parley for his health and his life, they are separate criteria requiring separate conditions.' The beginning of what he suspected to be a somewhat-trying explanation was carefully phrased, while his mind raced with questions of how to navigate this, recognising how delicate the situation was.

'If it had been Allen who was captured by you, would you do the same thing to Allen? The one all the Noah recognise as The Fourteenth?' was her next question, catching Sheril off-guard. Why ask about that exorcist? What was something-Walker's significance to this woman?

She was looking at him, and her eyes were fierce with something he had not previously seen. Her voice was wound tight as a skein of copper wire over hot coals, words reluctantly grated through a rusty- Was she angry? He could not afford to make another mistake with his answers, or negotiations might break down completely.

'Perhaps. If I do anything, it would completely depend on what the Millennium Earl decides. Unlike other exorcists, Allen Walker is special to him.'

'Will you t-torture Lavi, after this dream?' was barely a whisper.

'I cannot see how I am supposed to avoid my duties, as long as he remains with us.'

Damn. Wrong answer. She turned her back on him. Suppressing a sigh, he gently called her name, asking her to please turn around. No response. He repeated himself. Still no response.

Realising pain could significantly affect her speech patterns and voice was more annoying than he wanted to accept, because of her getting significantly upset over an insolent eyepatch exorcist, and he could feel his annoyance increasing when she had become even more upset when asking about an idiotic Walker. Forcing her to obey was a tempting idea. Use his powers and smash her barrier to bits, by draining her energy for sustaining it- But it would only cause a permanent failure of this negotiation. For all he knew, he might be scum in her estimates. Nothing had changed in her face or mannerisms while she spoke to him of the hammer-wielding exorcist, but a certain coldness and stiffness had become apparent, reeking of rejection.

Sheril Kamelot refused to be rejected in this instance, even if it was someone he barely knew, and no great beauty, but an enemy soldier. He had to transform expectations, weave a connection to become something tangible and irresistible, intrigue her, prove her wrong- And the best solution came to him.

'Miranda, if you turn to face me so we can converse properly, I will tell a certain Noah to remove the parasites from your exorcist friend who wields a dangerous hammer, when I get back to the waking world.'

That offer resulted in the reaction he desired, although she refused to look him in the eye. Hm. Time to up the ante.

'If you wish for me to stop torturing your exorcist friend, doing so is a heavier requirement needing me to interact with the Millennium Earl, as long as your friend is still in our hands. He had to pay a price, and not only because of what I want to know. His master Bookman refuses to stay neutral in this war and hence lost one apprentice as a lesson. It seems the lesson has not yet been learned, despite the years which have passed. As such, there will be two conditions.'

He had her attention. How was it possible for dark eyes to be so hauntingly expressive? How much had she been through, to be able to say so much without resorting to words? Why was he reminded of the mother he and Tyki had lost too early, before he had turned fourteen? A petite woman braver than she looked, doing surprising things such as stubbornly using her umbrella and basket to try to fend off two hungry stray dogs, while two sons not exceeding six years of age cowered behind her?

His conditions were issued less firmly than he had imagined, and was that a tinge of- Worry? 'Agree to meet me for an afternoon of tea when I issue an invitation, to parley for his life without informing your fellow exorcists. Remove this barrier in the next twenty seconds, or I will have to use force. What do you want me to do?'

Her dark brown eyes were uncomfortable in his perception, and there was nothing placid or conciliatory about their intensity. Staring at each other, the seconds crawled by. And when he thought he had no choice, the Innocence barrier separating them vanished.

Walking slowly towards her, it was impossible not to notice heated irritation resulting in an itch at the base of his skull. He came to a halt in front of her. She had lapsed back into refusing to look at him. What would it take, to make her believe he was not filth stuck to her boot sole or something undeserving of her gaze? And why should he think about this? Too late. Whatever she stirred within him and his Noah had been enough to make him consider improving his worth in her eyes, which betrayed his loss of neutrality where she was concerned. The urge to kill her and destroy her Innocence was growing, as compelling as wanting to lift her chin and-

Sheril had to mentally struggle, to resist giving in to the allure of the easiest solution. And if he was not careful, or forgetting to rein in his imagination or fancies, she might burn him with more than he was willing to lose. As it stood, idly contemplating various scenarios leading to accidental death of another woman while eyeing her was already a dangerous warning of how she could affect him into dreaming and voicing nonsense.

'If you want me to refrain from killing the eyepatch exorcist, allow me to kiss you.'

Her face- All colour was drained. Large eyes became bleaker with unspoken emotions, and she had stopped breathing. Asking her to drink hemlock or jump off a cliff seemed preferable. Abrupt loss of animated vitality had told him what he needed to know, especially when pale eyelids slid shut, chin trembling while head was slightly bowed and turned away: Sheril Kamelot was repugnant to her.

Closing the distance between them, his right hand gently enclosed her left hand, even as his other hand went to her waist and pulled her against him. Without moving, he bent to whisper into her right ear.

'You may hate or despise me, for what I have done to your friend, and I will not blame you. I have no excuses. He can believe whatever he has chosen to tell you. However, I am not without a code of honour, even if you believe it is non-existent, or classify me as worse than garbage in the Rhine.' Taking the part of the underdog, it took a colossal effort not to bite out the words in a scathing or angry tone, and he did not know why saying all this made him feel something heated beyond annoyance.

Despite managing to maintain the cultured rhythm of his entreaties, a certain Kamelot was very displeased to notice how his words possessed enough tension to fail at sounding languid. Tender. Gentle. He had to sound kinder, even if he wanted to do the complete opposite to her.

'His situation is not your situation. You would have a hard time explaining to the Black Order how you came by any information from this dream. The Black Order does not have the capability to rescue Bookman and his apprentice. I am giving you an opportunity to do so. I will not force you beyond your boundaries of propriety. I will not harm you. I understand if you cannot accept what I am saying, at this point of time.' Breath from his lips still touched her ear, but he did not move closer, maintaining a certain distance which had been intrusive at first, but no longer threatening.

He could feel the shivers of her body slowing and subsiding, tense muscles relaxing slightly, as his efforts in placating her were slowly unravelled using the gentlest and most regrettable tone he could muster. Good. He wanted her to acclimatise and succumb to the reality and idea of being in his arms, because he intended to go farther than that, in time to come.

Scenting victory and remembering this intention gentled his next words beyond anything either one of them could imagine. Sheril Kamelot had not thought he could shock himself, but there it was. What he spoke was not what he intended, and beyond his control, a blast of surprise to him and his inner Noah. 'Come to the Garden of Versailles, when I send you the necessary. I have meant everything I said to you, and I will prove it. I never intended to cause you such pain. As to the kiss… Miranda, look at me. Please.'

Silence was the anticipated interlude. With a significant effort, he recollected himself, and waited. His patience was rewarded, when she finally looked up at him. There was no victory in grimly pinched lips, and no pleasure in being gifted with such unhappy resistance. Her eyes were suspiciously shiny. Never shifting his attention from her, holding her with eyes and words- He leaned closer- And lifting her left hand, touched his lips to the soft skin on the back of that hand.

'I kiss your heart. And leave you in peace.'

Stepping backwards, leaving her to stagger with surprise and not helped by sudden loss of his support and presence, no further words were necessary. Maintaining a deadly serious expression and lowering his gaze, a smile of satisfaction was suppressed. Executing a simple bow without any grandiose gestures, Sheril Kamelot turned and headed for one of the biggest tree trunks at an upright angle. Relief at the thought of leaving her propelled him more than he would acknowledge. Time to return. Their game must continue in the waking world, and the Garden of Versailles would be perfect.

_My lady exorcist, I look forward to breaking down all your barriers, stripping you of your defences, and getting to the heart of you. Breaking you to my will is going to be delicious. I hope you will not break too soon, or I will be worse than bored… and I don't want to be disappointed. If so, I will kill you sooner rather than later._

Seeing her again would be panacea for a devilish interest brimming with possibilities. She was forbidden fruit, and he adored peaches. Coring the pit for discarding, sucking out the juice of what remained, crushing the pulp, and devouring desiccated flesh had always been an enjoyable childhood habit to keep.

However, he had never devoured a poisonous peach. He had barely tasted the skin and smelt the juice, yet he could feel the initial seepage of her poison affecting his thoughts, leaking into his emotional mindset. The increasing desire to make her weep and beg before killing her had become as annoying as the desire to kiss her, and show her how much pleasure could be derived in the ways they could come together on a bed of perfumed sandalwood and silk, in the haunting hours of-

Speaking with the Millennium Earl in the next twenty-four hours was a chore he could look forward to, since the subject of his desire was prey he itched to subdue and capture more thoroughly than- If he would be poisoned or ruined with choices beyond his imagination or inclinations, she must pay in equal measure or more.

He was not Orpheus foolishly losing Eurydice. Unlike that overly romantic idealist, he would never allow his Persephone to escape. Unscathed.  


* * *

 

Watching the Noah stroll away, Miranda Lotto finally felt her knees give way when he walked behind a tree and seemed to vanish. An unresponsive landing was comforting against her legs, hands braced in upended soil to prevent an uncomfortably grimy kiss with the dirt.

 _Despite our powers, Noah are humans, with emotions and desires and dreams. What would you do to me, if our roles were reversed?_  
  
This man was crazy. No, worse than crazy. He was diabolical. He had given her nerves a workout worse than any akuma attack or exorcist-saving mission she had ever had to endure. To do such horrible things to Lavi- And yet- What was he trying to do to her?! Did he know what he had been doing?

_You are unusual. Strange thoughts stir in my blood. I desire to give in to the urge to possibly share them with you, Miranda Lotto, and risk being betrayed. You have experienced much betrayal from fellow human beings, but in a different manner, when you were clumsy and stumbling for refinement._

Trying to understand Sheril Kamelot was more confusing than trying to learn Latin and Greek and world politics while tied upside-down over a boiling cauldron of sulphur. Her skin tingled, where his lips had been. He could have used force at any time, but he did not. He could have overpowered her. He could have been violent in any number of ways, to injure or kill her. And what was with that- that-

_I kiss your heart._

Such a statement should have been corny or smarmy! Under other circumstances, cheesy! Cringe-y! But the way he had said it… When he had given her a kiss she had not expected, she could not resist looking at him, shocked at her lips being spared. And- Trapped. While doing so, he had stared at her with a strange light burning in those eyes, steady and strong enough to truly terrify her. She no longer thought of brass statues, but candles of softly melting wax before a locked attic. She wanted to run away, but she could not stop staring into those unusual eyes of gold-

_He'll weave words to m-make you reveal yourself… and then he will hurt you. Don't… ever… trust him… He acts too well…._

Lavi. Vivid imagery of what might have been done to a dear friend in a terribly agonised state flooded her mind, immolating her in shame. Everything which had transpired here could merely be a game to this highly-intelligent Noah, who must have realised she could not attack him with her Innocence. Sheril Kamelot was dangerous. If she underestimated him or took everything about him at face value, not only would she lose Lavi, but also her life and possibly more than that, such as allowing people of the Black Order to come to more harm. Bookman. How could people do such horrible things to an old man?!

She could not afford to be misled. If all this was a game to the Noah of Desire, she would only be a plaything to eventually destroy and kill, when her amusement factor was exhausted. If so, then whatever he had said to her was not trustworthy. Building and eliciting a climb of hope and other emotions within her to make her believe him was a sham, before shoving her into a devastating fall. The Noah clan had a well-documented history of killing and/or tormenting exorcists without any qualms.

But something about his behaviour… What if this Noah truly held at least a tiny bit of fascination and interest towards her, seeing value in her, despite most of it being a farce? Thinking about both possibilities was enough to make her knees quake. But if it was the latter, such a possibility might increase her chances of helping Lavi and getting him out. That was advantageous. She might be Lavi's only hope. The reins of outcome were controlled by this Noah.

 _I will not harm you. Come to the Garden of Versailles, when I send you the necessary. I have meant everything I said to you, and I will prove it._  
  
She dared not ponder the third and fourth possibility. If Sheril Kamelot was more than a little interested in her… or completely interested in her… Clutching a moss green linen blanket to her chest, Miranda Lotto woke up.

She was still wearing dark grey pyjamas in her austere sparsely furnished room, within the Black Order's European headquarters. The window was closed and locked, as it had been before she went to sleep. Everything was undisturbed. This was the last time she would agree to taste Komui's vitamin experiments as supper, before he unleashed them on the exorcists as compulsory nutrition supplements. Impulsively, she looked at the backs of both her hands.

They were dry. It had only been a dream. But Lavi… Exhaling, she released her tight grip on the blanket, and turned them over- What were these tiny green bits poking the palm of her left hand? Not cloth. Not paper. Not- Grass?

In a different dimension, a certain Kamelot smiled, as he yawned and stretched. He was feeling much better than usual, for the first time in several days. And he could already see what he wanted her to wear. Combining silk with satin for a certain blend and texture, the material for a customised sleeveless sundress with a modest neckline must be a dreamy white suffused with a barely evinced hue of shimmering wisteria pink ending just below the knees, to offset a fair complexion. Dainty short white heels would finish the ensemble.

Oh yes, there must be a matching white hat. And a simple pair of pearls in the same unusual colour as the dress, for her ears. He already liked those ears, since they might be very sensitive. Ah, must not forget a bracelet of seed pearls laced with gold. Spring shyly ready to bloom into summer- What a portrait their afternoon tea would be.

Red lipstick would be too vulgar. Come to think of it, any makeup now seemed rather overdone for her… unless it was the lightest hint of blush, maybe a dab of clear gloss to the lower lip, and some Egyptian kohl, to emphasise those expressive eyes. She was a natural pleasure to watch. Her looks were thankfully not too delicate, reassuringly feminine with a certain solidity rather than overrated fragility or sexuality, embracing the earth and gentle gurgling brooks. Where so many women needed makeup to look beautiful or attractive or lively, he would not make the same mistake with her. He would see her unmasked.

Miranda Lotto was not a voluptuous hothouse blossom, nor an exotic showy array of flowers shedding pungent overripe petals which would be forgotten like so many others, once decay set in. Something lingering and chaste… Almost as sweet as newly fallen snow and greenhouse roses in winter, hints of autumn maple and freshly brewed applesauce where fillers and every leaf stalk or blade would play a part in the garden of springtime she represented.

Her lips did not reveal the annoying perkiness of pink carnations or prominent asters, but a gleam of rare promise as the sun emerged over a field of forsythia, a hardy perennial of faerie pink and white. To taste and teach those lips to be naughty would be ambrosia beyond his imagination, since she had probably never been kissed.

Her speech and enunciation had been devoid of the smooth haughtiness created by a childhood of aristocracy, signifying something much humbler in origins. Self-sufficient women who achieved what they worked for and tried to break out of were much more appealing and interesting than those who were used to handouts from a privileged background, in his experience.

Would she blush even more, if he kissed the inside of her wrist, instead of the back of her hand? At some point, only a customised perfume of orchestrated layers would suit her, and it must be anything but merely delicate and single-noted.

Myrtle, lemongrass, forget the vanilla, base notes might be- Merde. He was running away without himself. To be more exact, she ignited his imagination to the point that he did not realise he was on the precipice of losing himself to fripperies and not responsibilities. And the reason was so simple, he nearly forgot to inhale.

He had not always labelled himself as an unrepentant sadist. Dreams he had once harboured and discarded years ago… might have finally taken a significant breath, simply by encountering this woman, sensing what she was and could be. Was his instinct telling him Miranda Lotto was the disturbing possibility that with her, reality need not be manipulated or redesigned or refashioned? Or was it a mere fancy of childish dreams long suppressed? Awkwardness and smoothness would be two sides of the same coin, without judgment. And Time would flow naturally, sweetly, clumsily, peacefully… Easily savoured and laughed over, with such a partner for a wife-

The smile vanished, as he thought of another woman in a very different style of clothing and character. He would have to leave the Ark and return to the mansion today, or his legal spouse would be upset. Duty beckoned. But all of it would be much more bearable, including awaiting his darling Road's return and dealing with Wisely-kun's precocious stuffiness, because he knew what he wanted to achieve and acquire. He would refine and control Chaos through Time.

Before he could blink the thought away, he hoped she was not the Heart of Innocence.

_Miranda Lotto… I see you. But do you see me? What do you see? How will our game turn out?_

He had not been able to control the entire situation. And to realise himself speaking before completely vetting the impact of what to say... he pushed away dismay, remembering certain moments of the dream and their conversations.

Best to freshen up, then grab some breakfast. Downing a glass of port followed by a mug of dark chocolate laced with chai spices before bedtime had been enjoyable, but insufficiently filling. A plain croissant and hot milk sounded good. Talking with the Millennium Earl was unavoidable, and he must finish certain things before heading back, such as locating Fiidora and securing a certain mission to look forward to. Time was of essence. He was a man of his word, when it was given. The eyepatch exorcist must remain alive and be given some reprieve, for now.

However, in his conversations with a certain lady exorcist, he had not spoken for others he could not control. And if they chose to kill Bookman's latest apprentice, Sheril Kamelot would not be responsible. Remembering how her fingers had closed over his hand, as his lips tasted soft skin, heady sweetness due to large dark eyes staring into his eyes, thwarted dread resulting in unmasked innocence of a startled doe…

Being alive was truly fun.


End file.
